


Can we do this when I’m not bleeding on my bathroom floor?

by Herlilacskies



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Cutting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sad, Scott is a Bad Friend, Self-Harm, Stiles Stilinski-centric, no one dies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-10
Updated: 2019-05-28
Packaged: 2019-07-29 05:16:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 13
Words: 20,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16257419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Herlilacskies/pseuds/Herlilacskies
Summary: Stiles is suffering. Derek tries to help.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta'd.  
> I'm sorry? Eh, not really.

One more. Just one more. No five. Six? More. More. More. That’s so pathetic. You’re so  _ fucking _ pathetic. It’s barely bleeding. You have to go deeper. You  _ nee _ —.

All Stiles thoughts are cut off by a fully wolfed out Derek lisping “Stiles?” in a broken voice. Fuck. He’s gonna think he’s so pathetic. So disgusting. A fucking weirdo. Why can’t he do anything—Derek’s hugging him. Derek  _ Hale _ is hugging Stiles  _ Stilinski _ . Then Stiles is breaking to pieces in Derek’s arms, sobbing sorry after sorry into Derek’s shoulder as he drops the blade and wraps an arm around the werewolf. His other arm is over the toilet,  _ drip drop, drip drop _ .

Derek’s gripping Stiles like if he let go of him, he might disappear. His fangs and claws are put away as he asks “Why?” It’s said in such a broken voice Stiles breaks a little more inside at how much Derek’s hurting. How much he hurt him. The pain he caused. This is what he does. He hurts the ones he loves. That's why he’s on his bathroom floor hurting himself.

He killed Allison and Aiden. Which in turn hurt Argent, Scott, Lydia, Ethan…he hurt so many people.

The Nogitsune fucked him up.

“It wasn’t you.  _ Stiles, please _ .” Derek whines, finally releasing him and looking at him with pleading eyes and voice. Derek glances at the sink and grabs the hand towel on the edge. There’s already blood on it. Derek whimpers.

Stiles keeps his head down and mutters “Sorry.” at the heart breaking whimper from Derek.

Derek says “Don’t be sorry. This is just…” he searches for something and settles with “...Trauma.” then he says “Stiles, look at me. Please.” after Stiles hesitantly lifts his head with red, puffy eyes he continues “It’s trauma, but we can get through it. Eventually.” he says it in a calm tone.

Stiles nods along to Derek’s words and asks “We?” with a hesitant voice and shy eyes, so different from the boy he caught trespassing on his property not that long ago, his heart breaks.

Derek nods and with an incredulous smile he says “I will be right by your side. Through anything and everything. I’ll help. With everything. The money, I don’t want you to worry about anything. I just want to help you get better.” he says it like a child to it’s sick mother, with such love.

Stiles can’t possibly ask Derek to do that. He just can’t. He voices his thoughts “Derek, no. Y—You can’t. I can’t ask—“ but is cut off by Derek’s voice.

“You’re not asking me. I’m telling you I will be there for everything. For you. The appointments: doctors, therapists. I don’t care. All I care about is you. That you get better. Whether it takes months or years.” Derek ends it with glowing red eyes and with such confidence, Stiles kinda starts to believe him.

Stiles looks down to his lap at the arm resting in Derek’s hold with a green towel wrapped around it—the one one he used earlier this morning—he asks “What are we?” in the space between them. It’s so timid and terrified Derek whimpers.

Stiles' head shoots up to that handsome stubbly face with those misty green eyes as Derek says “Anything.” then more hesitantly “What do you want us to be?” moving his other hand to take his pain, not that Stiles really felt it much anymore—if anything to begin with.

Stiles looks back down and Derek panics as Stiles says “Can we decide when I’m not bleeding on my bathroom floor?” he's not being smart, he’s honestly asking a question.

Derek realizes the honesty behind the question. “Yes.” He lets go of Stiles to stand for barely a second before he’s carefully helping Stiles up and leading him out the bathroom and to his bed.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They get to sleep...eventually.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well...this is short.

_He needs to be okay_. _He_ needs _to be okay_. Derek is internally freaking out. What if he hadn’t come here? What if Stiles had gone too far? What if he just cleaned up and went to bed and then did it the next morning? What if—

“Derek?” Before Derek Can even register the words there’s a whimper coming out.

“Derek?” More concern, than sleepy hesitance. Before another involuntary whimper escapes he’s up and at Stiles side, on his knees ready to do anything Stiles tells him. Whether it be murder or telling Stiles his deepest and darkest secrets, he’d do anything and everything for this beautiful boy who has climbed under his skin and made a home. There’s nothing he wouldn’t do for this man.

He holds Stiles’ face, rubs a thumb across his cheekbone and takes his hand through Stiles’ already mussed hair “Stiles. I—You—I don’t wanna—“

Stiles’ head falls back to his pillow as he groans “Derek, I swear to the Gods above, if you say ‘take advantage’ I will literally murder you in your sleep. Okay?”

Derek’s hand is still hovering in the air where he’d held Stiles face as he gives a curt “Okay.” Then his hand falls to his lap.

Stiles looks up and the moonlight illuminates his hopeful eyes as he says now more hesitant than snarky “Get in bed?”

A moment of hesitation and an acrid scent hits Derek’s nose; hurt “Sti—“

“No Derek.” He’s barely containing a sob. Derek can smell the salt in the fresh wave of tears threatening to spill over his pale skin “Please. Just go.” He turns on his side and curls into a ball, clutching his mutilated arm to his chest tightly. He tries, he really fucking tries to hold it in, but then he exhales a shaky breath and it all just comes out in a terrible cacophony.

Derek just sits there. He opens his mouth, and then closes it. He holds out a hand, but it falls to his lap. Why isn't he doing anything? Stiles is in pain. He's hurting. What does he d—

“Leave. Please.” It's so broken and raw.

“Stiles.” He doesn’t know what to say. He just— “Please.” It’s a whimper.

“I—Stiles.” He doesn't know how to communicate.

“Derek.” It's a plea more than anything else, for what? Stiles has no idea. He just wants everything to stop. He doesn’t want to be here. Why can’t he just die? Why—

“Stop it.” That was definitely a growl. Did he say that out loud? Then Derek is at his back pushing him to the other side. He slides in next to him after pulling his jeans, socks, and shirt off, he sets them in a pile on the chair his jackets hanging from.

Derek wraps himself around Stiles, inhaling his scent in copious lungfuls, aside from the retreating stench of hurt its heavenly. He rubs his hands along Stiles arm, his side, he just wants Stiles to know he’ll never leave him. He’ll keep Stiles safe; protect him, whether it be an angry werewolf or Stiles himself.

Stiles shivers as he feels Derek’s breath ghost across the back of his neck “Derek?” After a rumble from the man behind him he continues “Would y—Could—” Derek noses along the nape of his neck, inhaling as he goes, waiting patiently for Stiles to get it out. Minutes tick by until Stiles finally settles with “I—I want you to—to make me...feel.” Then adds “I want you to make me feel...good.”

“Stiles, I—”

“Please.” It’s barely a whisper, as if he hadn’t uttered a word, terrified of the rejection.

“Okay.” A simple word that calms Stiles nerves, he exhales in relief and settles against the strong chest to his back in comfort, making sure he was actually there. Derek starts leaving small pecks along the back of his neck and the side of his throat. He caresses any and everywhere he can touch, leaving his scent everywhere, marking his boy up.

Stiles falls asleep humming at the light touches and even lighter kisses, he'd never been that content to just lay there. But Derek _does_ things to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Hope you liked it. If you didn't that sucks.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well...here.

“I think we should tell the Sheriff.” It’s a breath on the back of Stiles neck.

Stiles shivers.

“We already told him. He has wolfsbane bullets and everything.” It’s whispered petulantly in the quiet room as a ray of early morning light hovers over their heads.

Derek is holding Stiles upper arm, further up from the bandaged wrist—the one with the fresh, new scars—there are dull black veins appearing on Derek’s arm. It’s not excruciating, just a dull—and at times—throbbing pain. He still hates it. That Stiles would do that to himself. He just wants to know why.

Before he can think about it he’s speaking “Why?”

Stiles stills in Derek’s arms, his left arm comes up in defense, grabbing his wrist. There’s a shooting pain and Derek is so happy Stiles didn’t dislodge his hand.

“I don’t like it when you do that. You’re in pain. My pain.” It’s said with such guilt, Derek nearly chokes at the overwhelming scent that appeared so quickly.

“Why?” He presses.

“Derek.” It’s a warning.

“Stiles.”

“Please?”

“Please.”

Stiles curls into himself even more and mutters “I just—I don’t  _ know _ .”

“Sti—“ Derek cuts himself off. He wasn’t lying “You—You’re not lying.” Derek says in disbelief and adds “I’m so sorry I wasn’t there for you.”

“You needed to leave. For you. I would have dragged you down.”

“I could have gotten better here.” Then adds in a softer tone “With you.”

Stiles is slowly—increment by increment—uncurling from himself and settling more into the human-sized heater plastered to his back “Key word there is  _ could _ , big guy.”

“I wanna hear you screaming my name.” Then Derek is stuttering out in shock “I—I—I don’t—I’m s—”

Stiles laughs. Bursts out laughing “That!” Then adds more clearly “That is why it was good you left. You never would have  _ ever  _ accidentally let anything slip out. Especially—” Then adds in thought more to himself “I wonder what kinks you figured out while you were gone.”

“Stiles!”

“What?”

“I didn’t  _ even _ …” Derek is definitely blushing.

Stiles turns to Derek, cautious of his hurting wrist “You didn’t…?” After a downcast shake of his head he grabs Derek's face “You know that’s not bad right?”  After a sullen nod Stiles continues in exasperation “ _ Derek _ .” then he says more quietly in a suggestive manner “Were you saving yourself for someone special? Huh? Did ya’ think of me? On those dark, lonely nights? All alone? Nothing but your hand…”

“Stop.” It’s a growl—an aroused one at that. Stiles is gonna  _ get it _ if he doesn’t shut up. The spike of arousal in the air isn’t helping either.

“What?” He’s sitting up and with a lecherous smirk “Don’t you wanna make me feel good?” His hand starts to rub up and down his thigh, so incredibly slowly, torturously so “Come on, Der.” He never breaks eye contact “Don’t you want me?” His voice quivers in uncertainty as his hand inches ever so closely to his hardening cock.

Derek’s fangs are out and his eyes are shining a glistening red in the dark room, he sits up and is at Stiles throat before he can even blink. Then Derek’s hand is actually  _ on _ Stiles dick. Holy Gods, motherfuck—Cocksu—

“Dad!” And his dick is limp. Great. Thanks Dad. Father of the year. Th—

Derek is out of the bed and against the wall. Shit. Shit shit shit,  _ shit _ . And he's definitely still got a hard on...on. His life. His  _ fucking _ life.

“Dad.” Stiles looks from Derek and back to the Sheriff. He—He’s so fucked dude “Listen.” He holds up his hands and his fathers eyes shoot to the bandaged wrist. Oh shit. This is gonna be embarrassing.

The Sheriffs face goes through too many emotions in too little a time, he settles on something between quiet, seething, barely contained rage and confusion “Explain.” At Stiles mouth falling open he adds “Now.” That was a growl. The Sheriff is fucking  _ growling _ now. Was he raised with wolves. Jes—

“Stiles.”

Stiles glances from his father to Derek, who is still against the wall, albeit less wolfy...and less hard. That's an improvement. Progress. Progress is good. He turns back to his father “I—I don’t really know where to start.”

“Well…” He turns to Derek and back to Stiles “I'd love to know how  _ that _ ,” He points between the two of them “happened.” Then adds “And when?” With scrunched brows. At least his gun isnt holstered. That would have been bad, probably more for Stiles, well, considering the wolfsbane bullets...who knows? It could go either way now.

“Uhm…” He looks down at his wrist, the one Derek had carefully bandaged after he cleaned it,  _ and _ licked it. He  _ licked _ his bloody, mutilated skin. He’s a keeper. He tells his father “He’s a keeper...I—“ He looks over to Derek with a small and hesitant smile and a blush paints his cheeks as he sighs out happily “I love him.”

Derek just stares at Stiles in utter adoration, not even caring about himself on display for the Sheriff.

The Sheriff coughs. Derek startles and nervously glances at the Sheriff who is nodding in Stiles’ direction with raised brows and—Derek never said I love you.

Derek’s eyes go wide as he rushes “Stiles, I love you. I—I’ve loved you for—“

“Please.” The Sheriff interrupts with a wince “Do not finish that sentence, son. For the sake of everything I hold dear.” Derek blinks at him.

Stiles groans “ _ Dad _ .”  Then adds “Seriously? We haven’t even—It just—It just happened.”

The Sheriff closes his eyes, taking a breath “That’s what they all say.”

“Dad. Seriously. Like literally not five minutes before you walked in nothing happened.” Then he grumbled to himself “Could’ve happened.” Then more vehemently he grumbles “Should’ve happened.”

“When did  _ that _ ,” He points at Stiles’ bandaged wrist “happen?” With raised brows.

Derek can hear Stiles heart pick up speed as his breaths become shallow as the seconds tick by, and  can see the way he turns paler, the blush disappearing. Derek looks at the shirt, then the Sheriff, he says fuck it and grabs his shirt and rushes to Stiles side before it gets worse.

Once Stiles has calmed down some he turns toward his father, he's clinging to Derek as he whispers “You might want to take a seat.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks.


	4. Chapter Four

Derek smells the embarrassment; the humiliation before Stiles even speaks. It makes his wolf howl and whine for Stiles, he wants to take him and hide him away from everything that hurts. He wants so desperately to bury himself  _ deep _ —so deep—and  _ show _ Stiles how loved he is, and how precious he is. And tell him that he’d go feral if anything ever happened to Stiles. Instead of doing something inappropriate, he just pushes Stiles back more and fully sits on the bed and wraps himself around Stiles, vertically cuddling him—it looks more like Derek is not so subtly hiding Stiles from the Sheriff.

Sheriff Stilinski knows what's up, he looks between Derek and Stiles, he gives a long-suffering sigh as he sinks into his son’s desk chair, with an exasperated and so-done-with-everything voice he says “Derek.”

Derek sullenly unwraps his leg from Stiles' waist and partially reveals the boy. He is not happy about it.

Stiles halfheartedly glares at Derek, there’s no heat behind it. Stiles chances a glance at his father then shrugs “That’s as good as it’s gonna get.”

The Sheriff looks about ready to raise some hell, but then he seems to deflate, he shrugs back “You know what? This morning has not been great, okay? So I—Talk.”

“Okay.” It’s an acquiescence to his demand; a surrender.

The Sheriff barely hears it, maybe he imagined the small and broken voice that couldn’t be Stiles’. He’s so  _ confused _ . Did something cut Stiles? Someone? Was it Supernatural? Was it Derek?

“Da—d.”  His voice cracks with emotion and his father straightens up and leans forward with his elbows on his thighs “I’m not okay.”

His eyebrows raise and then come together and Derek whines low in his throat. He throws a leg over Stiles lap and pulls him closer.

Stiles' eyes stay trained on Derek’s leg, where his fingers are now roving through his dark hairs, the both of them taking and giving each other comfort. A few silent and tense seconds pass before he speaks again “I haven’t been for a  _ while _ now.” His lips turn into a self-deprecating smirk as he smooths the unruly hairs back down again, Derek noses his jaw.

The Sheriff doesn’t even bat an eye at the obvious display of affection, he’s so confused with the whole situation but happy that Stiles is happy. Or is he even happy? He shakes his head trying to dispel the confusion and settles in for the confession that’s sure to come.

It’s Derek who asks the question—with a whine “How long.”

His hands never still, always pushing the hair on Derek’s legs up...and back down again. But his heart, it’s erratic at moments, steady at others. And his breath, his breath is shallow and quick at times, at others it’s a calming and soothing sound. When he registers Derek’s question, his hands tremble as he pulls and smooths down the short hairs anxiously; quicker. He doesn’t speak for a  moment or two, no one speaks, not even a twitch of the nose, then a breath leaves him “Derek—”

“Stiles.” It’s the Sheriff, he couldn’t keep quiet any longer.

The patting of hair becomes more aggressive, before it returns to soft and soothing touches, he says “I—” He’s cut off by his own huff of laughter, once he sobers up he continues with a wistful smile as he pulls hair and scratches down Derek’s leg “I don’t think I’ve ever been  _ okay _ .” Then he mumbles more to himself “What does that even mean?” 

The Sheriff starts with “Sti—” But is cut off by Stiles emboldened and enraged voice.

“And I am so  _ sick _ and fucking  _ tired _ of saying I’m  _ fine _ .” His fingers nearly leave marks on the werewolf’s skin and his eyes lock with his father’s “I’m  _ so _ far from fine Dad, so far. I’m out of the fucking ballpark, Dad.”

His father goes to speak but is silenced by Stiles' hand, his other once again ghosting over Derek’s skin, pulling and pushing, scraping and scratching. His eyes return to Derek’s leg as he addresses the Sheriff, one hand ghosting along his thigh, the other smoothing down his calf “Please. Let me get everything out.” He takes a deep breath and begins.

“I—” He sticks his face in Derek’s throat out of embarrassment; mortification.

Derek relishes in the feeling of Stiles, every point of contact is like calming electricity. Derek knows that Stiles needs to do this, so he whispers about how well he’s doing and that no one’s laughing, he encourages him, telling him that he’s right here and staying.

Stiles musters up all the courage he could manage and lifts his head, hands trembling in uncertainty “I...hurt…” Stiles trails off, it’s so embarrassing. His father’s gonna laugh at him; ridicule him.

“Stiles, did you hurt somebody? Son, you can tell me anything. Was it an accident? Did they say something? It’s alright.”  He punctuates it with a reassuring smile.

Stiles stills, his fingers stop their ministrations, his heart rate drops, his breath stops. Then all hell breaks loose.

The Sheriff is up and his hand is on his empty holster, Derek’s eyes are shining a deep crimson red, and Stiles is trembling, yet completely calm and still as a single, lonely tear drips down his pale cheek. Derek growls out lowly “Get. Out.”

The Sheriff’s eyebrows pinch and he gets up with determined eyes “Ge—”

Derek roars, it’s deafening in the small room, he pulls Stiles closer, fully wrapping himself around his hurting human.

The Sheriff’s eyes go wide, they dart from Derek back to Stiles, he huffs a hurried sigh and rushes out of the room once he’s concluded his son wasn’t going to get eaten by a werewolf. He goes downstairs, he grabs his jacket and keys and is out the door, mumbling about the Supernatural and all the hell it's put Stiles through. Not knowing it’d started long before werewolves, kanamas, and darachs oh my.

Derek eases them into a horizontal position once he hears the cruiser’s engine fade away, Stiles is mostly on top. He clings to Derek, burrowing into his chest, at moments he’s sniffling into his throat, it hurts Derek. How could the Sheriff say those things? Stiles would never hurt an innocent person, he didn’t even kill the spiders in the loft, he would just corner them into his hands and walk outside.

Stiles’ croaky voice breaks him out of his thoughts “I don’t know why I do it. I just went so long being so...numb. I knew I wasn’t feeling things right.  _ Derek _ ,”  Stiles’ grip tightens on Derek’s shirt “I just wanted to feel something; anything. I—” He’s quiet a moment, just gathering his thoughts, a sniffle here and there “I came home from school and I had two essays to write, a poster to do, I had to clean my room, wash my clothes, my sheets, and I just—I didn’t do it. I couldn’t bring myself to do anything, I was barely there the entire day. And I just went to bed, but I didn’t sleep. I thought, and thought, and thought, about everything and nothing. And I—I wanted—”  He blows out a watery breath “I just wanted to hurt so bad, I wanted pain. I just wanted to hurt myself so bad. So I—” His voice cracks and he pauses, trying to gather his courage.

Derek kisses the top of his head and assures him “It’s okay, Stiles. You’re alright, no one's ever going to hurt you. I promise.”

Stiles sighs in relief and curls himself somehow further around Derek “I broke my finger first. It felt  _ so _ good, Derek. To feel so terrible, so much pain.” Then he switches topics so quick it’s astounding “You know? It was my fault. The Nogitsune. I let him in. I craved pain, just like him. I killed—”

Derek growls “Stiles, you had no choice. It wasn’t your fault.”

Stiles stifles an oncoming sob and trudges on “I know that, I really do. I just—I want to hurt myself.  _ All _ . _ The _ . _ Time _ .” Derek whimpers. Stiles smooths a hand down his chest shushing him “Not at this exact moment I do not. I want to be  _ alive _ . With you. But…” He goes quiet, it's a long pause and Derek is patient as he waits for Stiles to say something, anything really. He whispers it, barely audible to Derek’s own wolf ears “Those.” He drags his uninjured, yet scarred wrist higher on Derek’s chest and points to a few deeper scars on his left wrist and takes a deep breath “That time...I really—” His lips tremble as he takes in a shaky breath “I wanted to—” He bitterly laughs “This is so fucking humiliating.”

“Stiles.  _ Please _ .”

Stiles burrows even deeper somehow, and blows out a watery breath “I wanted to ki—So bad. I wanted to die—To kill myself, so  _ fucking _ bad. I wanted to feel the blood dripping down my wrists, wanted to see  _ so _ much blood _. So much _ . Feel myself bleeding out, until I couldn’t feel...anything anymore.” Derek is whimpering and whining, pawing at Stiles' shoulder, clinging to him as he trudges on through his confession “But...it—they weren’t deep enough. They never are. I—I’m so  _ weak _ .”  A long-awaited sob finally tumbles out of his throat.

Derek pulls him closer, kissing is hair, his forehead, his cheeks, touching every and anything he can reach, he just wants Stiles to be  _ okay _ . He bitterly laughs inside. What  _ is _ okay? He—He just wants Stiles to be...better. To be happy and content and not in pain, he wants him to feel. To feel Derek taking him apart with his tongue and fingers and then  _ feel _ him burying himself inside his tight hole, and then wrecking his insides. And above all else he wants Stiles to feel how utterly and absolutely  _ loved _ he is, to know that Derek would give anything— _ do _ anything, to make him feel...anything. Stiles is...everything.

It’s a long while of Derek listening and comforting, while Stiles points at his wrists and tells him what happened that day. It was tearful, to say the least, most of Stiles words were cut off by hiccups every few minutes and Derek was just  _ trying  _ to keep it together—for Stiles.

Once he gets to a faded—nearly gone—scar he takes in a shuddering and uncertain breath “This one...the first.” He's quiet for a moment, swiping a thumb over his wrist “It was...after the warehouse. I—” He cuts himself off “I was so numb. After everything, Gerard, Jackson, and the betrayal. There was so much  _ wrong  _ in that moment. I didn’t—I couldn’t deal with it. I didn’t want to...to exist and—” He doesn’t want to say it, what if Derek leaves, or feels guilty?

“Stiles.” Derek nudges the top of his head in encouragement.

Stiles braves on “That night when Scott  _ used _ you like that, and I—Derek, I’d never—”

It’s a kiss atop his head; in his hair “I know.” He did know. That terrible night had him feeling too many things, he saw the bruises on Stiles and wanted to  _ murder _ Scott desperately, and then the betrayal from Scott. Even then he wanted to take Stiles away and hide him from any and everything with ill-intent.

“Dere—k. You looked at me. And—You were so—So  _ angry _ , I thought you’d thought I had  _ known _ what Scott—I didn’t—”

“ _ Stiles _ . You— _ Please _ . I—No, never, never thought. I never thought that, I was so mad at Scott. And Stiles, you were clearly hurt, and all Scott cared about was Allison. And Gerard, I could smell him all over you—Did he—Stiles, did h—”

“No.” He pulls the blanket over himself to hide his red cheeks, flushing in embarrassment “He—He didn’t— _ No _ .” He shakes his head.

“Okay.” He breathes out in relief after listening to Stiles’ steady heartbeat.

“Okay.” Stiles echoes.

Stiles is the first to fall asleep like that holding onto each other, comforting each other. Then as night falls Derek hears the cruiser pull in, hears the Sheriff stop outside the closed bedroom door, and hears the Sheriff walk to his room and settle in for the night. After the Sheriff drifts into sleep, Derek finally closes his eyes and snuggles up further under the covers with Stiles.


	5. Chapter Five

Stiles is in Derek’s lap nursing a cup of coffee when the Sheriff catches them off guard, Derek was still half asleep.  
“I just—Why would—He’s my dad. I—Why...Derek, Why would he say that?”  
Derek is holding Stiles and every now and then accepting Stiles’ offer of a sip. Before he can even begin to answer the rhetorical question he’s interrupted by a creak of the stairs and a muttered “Damnit.” from Noah.  
Stiles’ mouth shuts and he lowers his cup of coffee to his lap calmly, in wait of his father.  
Noah Stilinski did not—repeat—did not know what the hell was going on here. All he kinda-barely knows is that Stiles and Derek are...something and he did not handle yesterday correctly. He should have let him finish talking.  
He winces at each individual creak on every step as he walks down the last few. The Sheriff rounds the corner to the dining room. He finds his son in Derek Hale’s lap. He feels he should be more irked or wary of whatever is happening there, but he just isn’t.  
Stiles’ forehead is resting on Derek’s clavicle, so the Sheriff ends up locking eyes with Derek, he gives a stiff nod and heads into the kitchen for a cup. Before the Sheriff can actually make it to the threshold of the kitchen someone’s clearing their throat.  
Noah turns around and is met by Derek’s polite “Sir.” as he nods to the mug—clearly hot from the tendrils of steam wafting off from it—across from the two men, which the Sheriff had failed to register. So much for being a cop. The Sheriff gives another nod and heads to the seat across from his son and his son’s...Alpha.  
As soon as Stiles had heard the creak of a step he’d stiffened and rested his head on Derek so he didn’t have to see the man yet. He wasn’t sure if he’d manage eye contact, some days he couldn’t even manage it with the pack. It was a rarity with his father, but his father had never made him feel this—that bad.  
Stiles looks up to Derek’s hazel eyes, searching for something. He gives an almost nonexistent nod before he minutely shifts in Derek’s lap, looking at his dad. He takes a deep breath and with a strained and raw voice he says “Dad.”  
The Sheriff sets down the mug that was halfway to his mouth and says with hopeful, almost desperate eyes “Stiles.”  
Stiles looks down and plays with his fingers, after a moment, there’s an arm in Stiles’ lap, he starts stroking Derek’s hair immediately.  
The Sheriff—thankfully—stays quiet, hoping to not have a repeat of yesterday.  
Stiles takes a few more moments, trying to gather everything he has to say, and everything he doesn’t. But he does, eventually, speak, stiltedly at first “I...Dad. You...what you said wasn’t okay, and it…” there was a long pause “It hurt me. That you’d think I’d hurt someone else. I mean I would if it was like...justified.” Derek gives him a playful nudge and the Sheriff lets out a small chuckle. Stiles turns his head and smiles into Derek’s shoulder, he sucks in a breath and turns back to his father, finally making eye contact. He almost looks away at first but then gets straight to the point “I hurt—” Stiles rolls his eyes at his choice of words “I cut myself. Mutilated myself really.” he ends it with a malicious laugh.  
“Stiles, I—“  
Stiles gives a hard glare “I’m not done.” he takes a moment to gather his courage “I did it last night. Derek found me. He probably stopped me from killing myself.” there's a watery laugh as he continues “And I’ve loved Derek for a while now.“  
The Sheriff registers the now relaxed shoulders and tries “Stiles.” When he isn’t cut off or glares at he continues, not really sure what to say “I’m sorry I haven’t been here. And I’m sorry I made you feel that way. I—Is there anything I can do?” he adds in clarification “To help.”  
“Just...be my dad?”  
The Sheriff fondly shakes his head “I meant...therapy…” at the paling in Stiles’ face he hastily adds “On second thought, no therapy.”  
Stiles nods to his father as he sits his finished cup of coffee down, he gets off Derek’s lap and drags him away. With a nod and “Sir.” from Derek, he’s whisked around the corner and out of sight.  
Once in the safety of his bed and his werewolf, Stiles asks “I did good?”  
Derek pulls him closer, his grip tightening “You did good.”  
“Good.”  
•••  
Stiles is pretending to be asleep because he can’t. Sleep that is. After about an hour or two, he’d started thinking. Not great things. Depressing things actually. It started with gratefulness and somehow morphed into disgust with himself. He felt that he was taking advantage of Derek, that Derek was only there because he felt bad. That Derek was pitying him. He felt so disgusted, that being wrapped up in Derek's arms is such a violation. Finally with a resounding affirmation from his inner demons he tries to get out of Derek's embrace, without waking the werewolf .  
He fails miserably.  
Derek wakes to an acrid stench pouring off Stiles in wretched waves. He realizes Stiles is trying to move so he unwraps himself from Stiles and sits up. With a sleep-heavy voice he asks “Whas’ wrong?”  
“Why are you here?” Stiles lays motionless as he stares at the wall. He can't look at Derek.  
Derek is wide-awake now. “Stiles, look at me.” Stiles doesn't move. “Please.”  
Stiles turns from his side to his back, he stares at the ceiling, until Derek nudges his foot. He slowly slides his eyes to Derek’s.  
“You should leave.” Derek opens his mouth but Stiles continues “I don’t want you here.” Stiles turns back over trying to hold himself together. Trying to ignore the slight stinging of his wrist.  
Derek is dumbfounded “I don’t know what happened. But whatever it is you’re thinking, it’s wrong. It’s so wrong, Stiles.” Stiles squeezes his eyes shut tight, as he starts to see blobs he feels a hand rest on his shoulder “Please. Tell me.” after a few moments he adds “Whenever you feel like this or want to—want to hurt yourself. If it gets bad again. Or even if your just feeling down. Tell me. Whether I’m in bed next to you or on the interstate. I will be here. Always.”  
Stiles finally turns over after a few agonizingly long seconds. He pats the bed for Derek to lay down too.  
When Derek lays down again, facing Stiles, Stiles says “I feel like I’m taking advantage of you and that you’re doing this” he waves between them “out of pity.”  
Derek doesn’t know what to say “I—Stiles. I’m not putting you. I just wanna...help. And be here for you. You’re my Mate and I wouldn’t feel comfortable very far from you until you’re marginally better by yourself. Please let me do this.”  
A small reply “Okay.”  
Derek opens his arms “Come ‘ere.”  
Stiles falls asleep moments later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading.


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I procrastinate. Too much. But it's fine. Totally completely fine. Also I added this chapter on a phone so...I hope it looks right.

Stiles startles awake from his half asleep state when Scott barges in.

Scott throws open the window and crawls through with a “Hey, Stiles—“ which is cut off when he sees a startled and slightly dazed Stiles peeking up from a now awake Derek. Who Stiles is definitely spooning, he doesn’t even  _ know _ .

Stiles looks and feels like a deer caught in headlights and Scott is the speeding car. He says “Scott, what are you doing?”

Scott looks between them with accusing eyes and settles them on Stiles and spits out venomously “What are  _ you _ doing?”

It’s too early in the fucking morning or whatever  _ fucking  _ time it is, he doesn’t care. He doesn’t want to deal with Scott right now. He just doesn’t. He pulls away from Derek, favoring his  _ hurt _ wrist, into a sitting position “Scott, you should go.”

Scott’s nostrils flare, his tongue flicks out, and his eyes flash. He steps forward and snarls “Are you—”

Stiles is brought back to when Scott’s dad was still here. That was his signature move, without the glowing eyes. He sighs, a sad, resigned sigh and cuts Scott off, hoping he wasn’t about to say what Stiles thinks he was about to say “Scott, I don’t have to explain myself. Leave.”

Scott doesn’t look like he’s going to listen, but with a threatening growl and flash of red from Derek, Scott’s hightailing it out the window.

After a moment Stiles scoffs “Asshole didn’t even close the window.” Derek laughs, full body laughs. It’s music to Stiles’ ears.

After the laughter has died down and they’re just sitting there, soaking up the comfortable silence, Stiles asks almost absentmindedly “Do you think he’s—”

“Yeah.”

Stiles hopes Derek doesn’t know what he’s talking about. “But, how could you know?”  by the end Stiles sounds a bit more broken.

Derek pulls himself up against the headboard and settles next to Stiles as he says “Stiles…” after a moment of contemplation he continues “Remember a couple months back when Pack Night was at Jungle?”

Stiles looks toward his desk for a moment in thought and returns his gaze to Derek a second later “Yeah…”

“So. You guys were—Well  _ they _ —” he corrects “—were all dancing. And I was keeping an eye on them. Scott broke off and ordered a drink. But while he was waiting a kid bumped into him. I didn’t think anything if it, until Scott turned on this kid and said ‘I’m not  _ gay _ you disgusting piece of shit’.” Derek turns to Stiles shaking his head “The way he said gay, Stiles…”

Stiles is shaking his head now, in denial “But I always make gay remarks, all the time Der. He never blinked an eye before.”

“Maybe he thought it was a joke.” Derek offers.

Stiles laughs bitterly “My life’s a fucking joke.”

“It’s not.”

Stiles tries to reason one last time “Maybe he just—just...was mad I didn’t tell him.” He looks to Derek in question.

Derek shakes his head “Stiles...he smelled...repulsed.”

“I—Oh.” He looks at his lap as the words sink in, after a moment he asks “Do you think the rest of the pack...that they...that—”

Derek grabs Stiles hand reassuringly “No, Stiles. I don’t think the pack are like Scott.”

Stiles nods to himself “That’s...that’s...really good.”

Derek’s grip tightens “Yeah, it is.”

“I’m hungry.”

“Your father isn’t here.”

“I meant for food—I’m hungry for food, not—”

Derek hisses “Stiles. I didn’t—I mean—”

“I know.” Stiles assures with a bright smile “I know.”

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t.” He kisses Derek’s nose and is out the door with a grin.

As Stiles is sitting across from Derek at the table, halfway through his sandwich, he asks “Should we—Should  _ I _ tell the pack about...this?” he waves his arm in the air.

Derek sets his own sandwich down and seriously asks “Do  _ you _ want to?”

Stiles looks down “No, I really don’t. Yet.”

“Okay, then.”

They’ve both finished their mid afternoon meal and are washing and drying their dishes when Stiles asks “What about us?”

Derek pauses in his drying duties to respond “What do you mean?”

“The pack.”

“Oh that.” As he dries and puts the last plate away he asks once again “Do you want to?”

Stiles is leaning against the counter as he says “I mean...I feel like they  _ should _ know, but...I don’t know...do you want to?”

“I do, but only if you’re comfortable with it.”

“I am, but what if—”

Derek walks into Stiles’ space and grabs his hands “It’s going to be  _ okay _ . Okay?”

After a moment Stiles lets out a breath and nods “It’s gonna be okay.”

“It will be. Now, do you wanna watch some T.V.?”

“I don’t know...shouldn’t we be setting a pack meeting or something?”

“We could discuss it over television.” Derek offers in response.

Stiles lights up “FX?  I think they were having an  _ X-Men _ marathon today. Is it Thursday or Friday?”

“Thursday.”

“ _ X-Men _ it is then.” then Stiles is dragging Derek to the living room and pulling him down into the couch.

They plan on Saturday at the loft.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and such.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I don't think it gets nasty but I don't wanna re-read it so...tell me in the comments.  
> Rereads chapter summary: *Shrugs and posts*

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was seriously contemplating just dropping these WIPS(because someone—me—kept venturing into nasty—sexiness—territory in almost EVERY little fucking fic, like they're fucking hound dogs, I have issues, Jesus, so sorry for that bullshit, it's not great, but...yeah), but Hazah! I am still here for some reason.

It’s Saturday and he is going to  _ murder _ someone, he isn’t prepared to function this early in the morning. Stiles is on his side and glaring at the window where three pairs of glowing eyes are bright in the darkness of the early morning. He’s been up since they started tapping at the window and he  _ knows  _ Derek is up too because  _ werewolf _ .  _ Hello _ . He nudges Derek once more and says “Can you tell me  _ why _ there are three betas outside my window?”

After a moment he goes to smack the shit out of Derek, but Derek groans and opens his eyes. He smirks at Stiles’ slightly raised right hand. He sighs and says “ _ I _ thought we were pretending they weren’t there. But apparently, I was wrong.”

Stiles groans and flops back down next to Derek and whines in exasperation “There’s a pack meeting tonight, tell them to go  _ away _ .”

Derek closes his eyes and mutters “Not my house.”

Stiles’ eyebrows raise in incredulity, it’s too fucking  _ early _ for this shit. He rolls his eyes, trying to calm himself. He bites out “Not my  _ goddamn _ betas,  _ Derek _ !” as he swings his legs off the bed. He storms to the window and pushes it up in a—well-warranted—rage and growls a seething “What?” into their faces.

Isaac falls off from the roof. There’s a deafening crunch, a second later a strangled shout erupts from Isaac that ends in a whimper.

Erica is already in and Boyd is coming through before Stiles can even mutter “Shit.” He sticks his head out the window and whisper-shouts “Are you okay?”

No sound. Then Isaac’s jumping up and scaring the living daylights out of Stiles and making him stumble backward. Isaac throws out an arm, wrapping his hand around Stiles’ wrist. His  _ still _ , very-much-so, tender wrist. He doesn’t fall.

Though he does—immediately—let out a strangled cry of pain, he rips his wrist out of Isaac’s now slack hold and brings it to his chest. Derek’s next to him in a second with black veins crawling up his arm as he takes away the pain. The lights are still off as Derek walks Stiles into the bathroom.

Stiles lets out a slightly strained “I can’t  _ see _ , Der.” then a slightly less strained—more panicked “And they can’t hear.”

Derek can see the fear, pain, and worry in his eyes. He growls out “Don’t listen.” with no room for argument and turns on the light.

Stiles flinches back, minutely, at the harsh brightness and squints at nothing in particular for a few moments as his eyes adjust. His eyes focus on Derek. He questions in a hopeful plea “They aren’t listening?”

Derek shakes his head. He asks “What happened?”

Stiles scoffs in annoyance “Fucking Isaac.” he rolls his eyes at Isaac’s antics “He scared the shit out of me. And I kinda stumbled back and he kinda grabbed my wrist and it kinda, maybe, hurt a little.” Before Derek can go all angry Alpha Stiles rushes “But like, it wasn’t his fault, he didn’t know. He had good intentions.” He thinks about Isaac startling him and adds “Mostly.”

Derek lets out a deep sigh and says “It sounded like it hurt a lot, Stiles.”

Stiles tilts his head to the side with a small shrug and says “Okay, maybe it hurt a little more than a little.”

Derek shakes his head and says “I can smell fresh blood, Stiles.”

Stiles holds out his arm—wrist side up—revealing a small patch of red on the bandage. He sighs in defeat. He looks up at Derek, fear lacing his voice “They’re really not listening?”

Derek shakes his head “They’d be on the floor clawing at their heads if they tried to refuse their Alpha’s orders. I’d hear.” he adds “The whole street would hear.”

“Okay.” He holds his wrist out to Derek in offering “Make it better.”

Derek takes the proffered arm and kisses the inside of his wrist, right before the bandage starts. He begins taking it of and cleaning up the blood, then he rebandages the fresher cuts. Derek is fairly sure that they’ll be completely healed in a day or two, that is if they don’t open back up. They probably would have been healed by tomorrow—the earliest—if Isaac hadn’t reopened most of them. Not that it’s his fault, Derek knows it’s not. He  _ knows _ . Once he’s done he looks at Stiles and says “All good.” He stands up and holds out a hand to Stiles “Ready?”

Stiles doesn’t say anything, he grabs the offered hand and rises from the edge of the tub. He latches onto Derek’s arm and starts running his fingers through his arm hair, after a moment he whispers “I think I have nerve damage.” Derek’s hold around him tightens in comfort as he adds even quieter “How can you look at them...me? They’re disgusting...I’m…” Derek doesn’t even think he’s talking to him anymore.

Derek pulls him closer and kisses his forehead, he pulls Stiles’ left arm up and leaves soft, barely-there kisses along the longer, thinner, and more shallow scars. He looks at Stiles, taking in the slightly parted lips and widened eyes. He gives one last kiss—keeping eye contact—and whispers “You’re beautiful. Every inch of skin on your body is perfect.” He lets Stiles’ left arm fall in favor of Stiles right one bearing the shorter, wider, and deeper scars and fresh cuts. He brings Stiles’ wrist up to his mouth and lets his lips leave a ghostly kiss on the fresh bandage.

His head tilts minutely as he hears Erica mutter “Seriously?” Before she can even finish taking a step toward the bathroom Derek growls out “Don’t.”

Stiles eyes widen in worry “Wha’s it?”

Derek shakes his head “Nothing. You ready?”

Stiles doesn’t answer, he asks “Do I—Do I have to tell them about…this.” he waves his arm around gently.

“No. You don’t. Do you want me to grab you a long sleeve shirt?”

“No, no, but if they ask can I just, like...ignore the question completely?”

Derek nods.

“Good. Good. That’s good. Okay, let’s go.” he waves toward the door “You out first,  _ Alpha _ .”

Derek’s eyes flash as he nods absentmindedly. He opens the door.

“Finally!” Erica exclaims in annoyance.

Isaac mutters “I’m sorry.” in a chastised manner as if he’d been scolded.

It takes a moment for Stiles to actually stop hiding behind Derek. He addresses Isaac first “I’m sorry. That wasn’t your fault. Don’t be sorry.” Then he addresses all three of them at large “But I  _ would _ like to know _ why _ you three are here at three o’clock in the  _ fucking _ morning.” He may have growled the last part out, just a little. Tiny, tiny bit.

They all shrink back at the tone. Erica growls and shouts at Derek in accusation “Well we haven’t seen you—our  _ Alpha _ —in  _ days _ ! No calls. No texts.” She huffs in anger “And then we find out you’re over here shaggin’ it with  _ him _ .” She snarls the last part at Stiles and returns her rage back to Derek “And from Scott, too. That’s even worse, Derek.”

“ _Him_.” Derek snarls at Erica “He’s the only reason this pack exists in the first place. You are _below_ _him_ in pack hierarchy.” Every him has Derek taking long strides towards his mouthy and disrespectful beta “ _Him_.” He snarls, a clawed finger in Erica’s face “He’s the _Alpha’s MATE_!” Erica is whimpering in distress by the end, backed up against the wall with her throat bared in submission. He turns around and heads to Stiles, wrapping his arms around him from behind and resting his chin on Stiles’ shoulder, his eyes are glowing as he says calmly “Now, I expect you all at the pack meeting _tonight_.” Boyd’s out the window first, a sulking Erica follows, and then a sheepish Isaac shuts the window on his way out.

After a moment Stiles lets out a breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding “Well...that was intense.”

Derek sighs and shakes his head “I should have told them, they haven’t really mastered bonds yet. Pack bonds. I should have said something.”

Stiles turns to him and asks “Have you really not said a word to anyone?”

Derek sheepishly nods.

“I’m sorry, I—You should—”

“Stiles.” Derek grabs both of Stiles’ hands “Don’t. It had nothing to do with you. I’ve been meaning to tell them—you—everyone, really. I just kept pushing it off and...I’m sorry.”

Stiles pulls away and says “You can’t say it has nothing to do with me when you’re only  _ here _ because of me! How does that work? Huh, big guy? Tell me.” His arms are crossed by the end.

Derek sighs and wraps himself around Stiles “I just...Stiles...I didn’t wanna—I  _ couldn’t  _ leave you. I just couldn’t and I thought they’d be fine for a few days. I...I forget sometimes, that they’re still just kids. That we’re  _ all _ kids.” After a moment he adds “I’m not even twenty-five yet, Stiles.”

“Not yet. You’ll be twenty-four in December.” he huffs a laugh and adds “Your birthdays must have  _ sucked _ . Majorly.”

Derek half-heartedly shrugs as he backs Stiles up, towards the bed “I liked em’. Always took the focus away from me.”

Stiles huffs with a grin “You’ve always been a Sourwolf, haven’t you?”

Derek noses along his jaw as he says “Maybe.” his lips centimeters away from Stiles’. Stiles darts forward, but his knees hit the bed suddenly and he falls back with a gasp. Then Derek’s on him. Nuzzling him. And Stiles is definitely on board with some non-sexual action.

Stiles brings his arms up to Derek’s sides and asks “Can we cuddle now?”

Derek looks up and nods. He crawls over and further up on the bed and waits for Stiles. 

As Stiles is falling asleep to Derek’s ministrations he starts blearily asking “Der...Der...De—do—do wolves...werewolves do...do wolves...werewolves mate...they mate...for...life…”

As Stiles finally tumbles into a restful slumber Derek whispers “Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are, by chance, still here...good for you. Thanks, I appreciate that. And uh any mistakes, just comment. I'll fix 'em.


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pack meeting. Shit happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blood warning...? If you somehow like Scott, you probably don't wanna read.

“Come on, let’s go.”

Stiles grabs his red hoodie “Does Erica hate me?”

Derek sets his leather jacket down and walks over to Stiles “Stiles. She’s gonna feel bad when she realizes how terrible she was to you. I wouldn’t worry about it.” After a moment Derek holds out a hand and says “Come on.” Derek grabs his jacket on the way out.

Derek drives the jeep, Stiles is too nervous. Too jittery, too fidgety.

In the car, Stiles’ knee doesn’t stop shaking in anxiety until Derek settles a comforting hand on his leg, soothing his nerves. Stiles calms, but only minutely, dreading the moment when they’ll finally arrive at the loft. Then it’ll all come back.

He’s gnawing on his thumb and looking out the window when he asks “Will Scott be there?”

“If he isn’t, he won’t be coming back.”

“Really? Just like that?”

Derek glowers at the road ahead “ _ Stiles. _ You...You’re...You’re so much more important, so…Fuck!” His hand tightens on Stiles’ thigh.

Stiles does stop biting his thumb though; it’s progress.

~

They clearly should have left more than a few hours prior.

Derek and Stiles had left three hours earlier so that they’d be there before everyone else. All the pack’s cars are already there. Well… Scott’s car is there but that could as easily be Malia or some of the Puppy Pack. Stiles wants Scott to be there but not really. Like  _ not really _ as in he may have a tiny panic attack if he sees Scott’s face contorted in unbridled disgust. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to take it. He’s really not good with rejection.

Derek grabs his hand and tangles their fingers together as they head up the stairs.

But Stiles knows that no matter what happens, whether it’s a small or huge instance, Derek will be there, protecting him. He knows that he’ll probably attack Scott because of it, verbally or physically, who knows. What he does know is that he probably won’t stop him. Doesn’t want to.

When they’re nearly to the door, Stiles doesn’t know if Derek wants to go in holding hands or not...Stiles doesn’t want to let go. He doesn’t want to...but he does. He pulls his hand away.

Derek pulls Stiles’ hand back to his own with a tight grip, then the door is sliding open in front of them. It’s Lydia. And She’s smiling. No. She’s smirking. Like she knows. Which everyone already probably knows, because if Erica knows then eventually everyone will.

And they definitely do if all the inquisitive and-or knowing eyes say anything. And Scott. Yeah, he’s glaring. And Stiles...Stiles is holding onto Derek like his life depends on it. Stiles thinks, for a moment, that he probably looks like a cornered animal. In front of all these predators. It puts some things in perspective.

They walk in.

Derek is totally and completely willing to tear into one of his Betas, especially if it’s Scott. He was soft on the original three, turned, betas. He’d probably literally tear into Scott. If he hurts Stiles in anyway, he will...he doesn’t know if he’d be able to stop himself. But he knows that if Stiles wants him to stop, he’ll be able to get him to stop.

Stiles wants to say something like  _ you guys are here early _ , but he doesn’t. He just...he...he can’t. He really wants to; it’s on the tip of his tongue. He still doesn’t. Instead, he sticks to Derek’s side as they settle into an armchair, Stiles sitting in his lap. He’s too overwhelmed with nervous energy to actually acknowledge the ease with which he does it in front of people; the pack.

Everyone’s there: Liam, Theo, Mason, Corey, Nolan, Brett; the whole puppy pack. Cora, Lydia, Peter, Malia, Kira, Allison, Isaac, Erica, and Boyd are spread around the couch and two other arm chairs, mixing with the puppy pile. And then there’s Scott. Sitting on the arm of the couch, looking between him and Stiles with a mix between disbelief and disgust. He wants to  _ rip _ his fucking  _ throat _ out. His grip tightens around Stiles and turns him slightly more into himself so he doesn’t cross paths with Scot’s stony gaze. He’s going to rip into him, there’s no doubt about it. He’s not gonna change in a matter of seconds.

After all the whispers and low chatterings from all the kids, Derek clears his throat with purpose.  He looks at each member in a once over and says “Stiles and I are Mates, as I’m sure all of you are aware of by now.” After a moment he gives a nod for the floor to be open.

Liam is quick to stand up. He looks at everyone with trepidation, he gulps and says “Me and—Theo and I, we’re dating. We’re Mates.” then he sits down and brings his hand to wrap itself around Theo’s. Theo is pale, Stiles and Derek both don’t think Theo had any idea  _ that _ was going to happen. Atleast, he looks less green when Liam’s hand is on his.

Then the room dissolves into people saying this and that about how they suspected or thought certain things about both couples. And that they’d come to similar conclusions.

Once the chatter quiets down, Derek sees Scott looking at his fellow pack members with bewilderment and disbelief etched all over his face. Derek knows he’s going to say something, something very untasteful. And he does.

“Are you guys serious?”

Everyone just stares at him in confusion. After a moment Liam asks “What do you mean?” it’s said with nervous laughter.

Scott’s eyes get even more incredulous as he hisses as if scandalized “You’re not gay!”

“Yeah I—Well no, I’m bisexual. Maybe pansexual?” he looks at Theo with a shy smile “Or just very gay. I mean now. With my Mate.”

“What are you even saying?” Scott nearly shouts in bewilderment.

Finally, Liam realizes what’s going on. Scott is homophobic. And...Liam doesn’t know what to do with that. He always looked up to Scott like an older brother, the fond memories now turning to bitter ash in his mind. His eyes drop and he says “Oh.” in a dejected tone. Theo’s grip on Liam’s hand tightens, searching for something to ground him, to keep him okay, to give him comfort.

Derek wants to cut Scott off—hell, he wanted to keep Scott away from the pack since he started preaching about morality and how killing was bad. He remembered the moment Scott changed his views on Stiles, it was sudden and abrupt. Everyone knew, but nowadays it’s played off as some sick joke. He wants to stop Scott but he’s curious as to how far he will go. Does he have no boundaries?

It’s not Derek who stops him though. No, it’s a small voice no one knew they’d craved so much, missed so bad, “Stop it.” It’s so quiet, yet so deafening. Stiles’ knuckles are white with the pressure he clings to Derek with, as if he’d die without the touch.

Scott does stop. In incredulity, “Stiles, you have no place in the pack. You’re  _ human _ . Helple—”

Derek jumps out from under Stiles, letting him fall to the chair softly. He’s on Scott in an instant: roaring and clawing at his face, his chest, his limbs, anywhere he can reach. He can feel the skin ripping and see it happening, but at the same time he doesn’t. There’s so much blood.

It somewhat settles his wolf in a way, even the pack bonds seem to  _ pop _ and  _ fizzle _ in a calm release, as if they’d just freed themselves of an acrid rot that was fraying the bonds, poisoning their connections. Which may be more true than Derek is comfortable with. It scares him—No. It terrifies him at how true that is, of how bad Scott was for this pack. How wrong he was. And Derek let it happen.

It’s Stiles’ voice that brings him back to himself, away from the edge of a feral nation. Away from the terror of his mistakes. His breathing stutters at the realization of how close he really was. To losing himself, Stiles, his pack— _ their _ pack. Derek suddenly doesn’t know why he was so stupid to stay away from Stiles for so long—

Derek’s blazing, red irises shine when his eyes open, filtering in all the red.

Scott. That was the reason; Derek didn’t want to be the end of a relationship, specifically Stiles’ and Scott’s friendship. He didn’t want to ruin the fragile thing they had left. Turns out, Scott had done that all by himself. He didn’t want to do that to Stiles.

In retrospect, Derek wonders if maybe, maybe if he’d done it sooner he—he would have been okay. Stiles would’ve been okay. Not—not so broken.

“Derek.” It’s raw and scared and needy, Derek turns to his boy, his  _ mate _ . His life. Stiles’ eyes rove over the blood splattered along his arms, his face, his chest, dripping down his neck. He goes to his everything. His whole world. Derek sees Stiles’ eyes glaze over in unshed tears and he realizes a few things in that moment. Stiles didn’t stop him for Scott’s sake. Stiles got triggered by the excessive amount of blood on the floor and dripping down Derek’s body.

As Derek gets closer, Stiles starts muttering “I—I need—I need— _ Der _ .” Stiles is pulling at his sleeve, but he’s just out of it enough to be extremely uncoordinated; essentially rendering him unable to reveal his secret to the entire pack. Stiles is trembling in need and it breaks Derek’s heart. Stiles shouldn’t want to do this. He shouldn’t—He doesn’t deserve any of this bullshit.

Instead of coming any closer, he backs away and turns around so Stiles can’t see the blood on Derek anymore. And hopefully quell the urges. He grabs a blanket off from the couch—now mostly vacated—and tosses it over Scott, where all the blood is. He shouts for Isaac and Lydia to take Stiles away and once Stiles is out of earshot he addresses Boyd and Erica “Take care of...it.” He eyes the blanketed form staining his hardwood floor as he walks to the bathroom.

He pulls the bleach out and pours it over himself in the shower until all he can smell is the rancid scent of burning chemicals. As soon as the bleach is put away Derek strips and jumps in the shower, trying to get his normal scent back so it’ll comfort Stiles, not make his nose scrunch in disgust. He mentally berates himself as he pokes and prods at his still slightly bloodied fingers in the sink, eventually his fingers are just slightly pink, mostly from how hot the water was. He should have known. Why didn’t he think? Why’d he think it was okay to do it infront of him?

He wraps a towel around his hips and follows Stiles’ heartbeat to find him in his bedroom. On his bed. It...does things to him. Lydia and Isaac are sitting cross-legged outside the door. Lydia telling him that she’ll take him to the mall this weekend and that she will Jedi mind fuck the pack into watching all the  _ Starwars _ movies this weekend. Isaac is listening and absentmindedly muttering things about scarfs and how hairy Chewy was. Most of the rest of the pack are in the loft below, playing games and/or watching T.V.. Malia went out to kill something with Kira in tow. Liam and Theo had left after Derek had started ripping into Scott, it wasn’t that he disapproved, moreso, he couldn’t stomach the good and bad. He was too overwhelmed and blind-sided. Though Derek has an inkling Theo had been so off  _ because _ Scott was there. The rest of the puppy pack had went downstairs to drown out the noise with video games. Allison was still in the kitchen—music still on full blast—making macarons; who knew Allison was a stress baker like so many other pack members. Maybe it runs in packs, Derek thinks belatedly. The others he can’t hear must have left when he was cleaning everything off.

Derek doesn’t bother to try and cover himself up more than he already is and nudges Lydia with his foot “Hey, how’s he?”

Lydia nods and mouths  _ good _ . Lydia nudges Isaac and he gives Derek a thumbs up as he starts to stand, it’s a bit wobbly at first, but Lydia locks her arm with his and meanders down the hall saying “Come on drunkard, your girlfriend’s stress baking. Let’s go eat her fuck up ones first.” Isaac mumbles an affirmation as his cheeks heat up.

The two had just gotten together last month, Scott didn’t take well to the idea of his friend and ex dating. It was a shitstorm for a few weeks. Derek had to get into Scott’s face because he’d cut Isaac up pretty good. While he was protecting Allison from Scott. On a date. That Scott stalked them on. After he pretended to be happy and encouraged Isaac to go to that place he’d been wanting to take Allison to for ages.

They haven’t been there since. And have admitted that they probably won’t ever go back because of how horrific it was. Allison still wakes up sometimes screaming. It’s either Scott lunging at her or it’s watching Scott gut Isaac like an animal. Sometimes she’s still crying by sunrise. And sometimes she’s crying into her batter in the kitchen. Sometimes Isaac, arms wrapped around her, comforting her. Sometimes it’s Derek making the creme for the cookie or whatever she wants to make. Derek had really stepped up when Stiles had stopped coming over the last year. It had hurt. But, he didn’t know. He didn’t know how much Stiles needed them, how Stiles probably would have killed to be baking with Allison. Maybe she’ll be up in the morning. Maybe they’ll have a pack bake sess.—or that’s what Stiles had always called it, but then when the pack tried, it all fell through. It wasn’t the same. The pack never saw him at one time together, only a few members at a time. It had been months before Derek finally couldn’t take it and had to find out. And here they are.

Derek walks in and closes the door. Stiles smiles warmly when he realizes who’s in front of him. He sluggishly mumbles “Der—Der’k—De—Der—ek.” He isn’t shaking anymore. Or trying to pull his sleeves up. It’s a good sign, he thinks.

Derek pulls him further up the bed and tucks him under the covers, making sure to give him Derek’s own pillow. Derek kisses his forehead and whispers “I love you.” Derek lets his hand drift down Stiles’ jaw and slowly slides off his cheek as Derek turns to go get clothes. He doesn’t get very far, Stiles grabs his wrist and whispers in that needy, broken voice “Stay, Der, stay.”

Derek kisses Stiles’ hand “One minute, Stiles, I’ll be right back.”

Stiles blearily mumbles in a childlike voice “Thas’ wha’ Ma’ say. She came back in coffin.”

And Derek, well, he can’t. He  _ can’t _ . Stiles has been through so much and hasn’t deserved any of it. Especially that of the egotistical, self-righteous, prick Scott became. Or had he always been that way? He’d ask Stiles in a few years.

Derek drags the towel over his hair and then throws it near his laundry basket. He pulls the covers down and nudges Stiles “Scooch over, kid.” 

“Mhm.” Stiles nods with half-open eyes and slides to the middle. Derek gets in and Stiles immediately wraps himself around Derek. Derek lets Stiles curl into him and they sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Is he dead though?


	9. Chapter Nine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baking?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not that long, sorry.

Stiles woke up to the smell of something baking. He couldn’t recall the last time he’s done that with someone. It would either be Allison, Boyd, Theo, Kira, or Derek. And anyone else just sitting there, too. Seeing as Derek is still probably where Stiles left him, it’s most likely one of the other ones, but Stiles is fairly sure he saw Theo and Liam both leave. He thinks Isaac or Lydia had said something about Allison baking. It could be her.

When he walks down the stairs he hears light, almost whispering voices. As the counter comes into view he sees cookies, muffins, bread, and cakes surrounding Isaac and Liam as they sit there, watching Allison and Theo bake. Isaac looks like he could fall asleep at a moment's notice but continues to eat cookie after cookie, while Liam looks like he hasn’t slept much at all. Maybe they came back? Stiles doesn’t really know, he wasn’t all there for a while yesterday, but he did feel a little—a lot of—satisfaction when he saw Derek tear into Scott, but then all he could see and think of was blood and...he wasn’t really there then. It wasn’t Derek’s fault. It just happens when he sees lots of blood. He had to stop watching AHS.

Allison turns and grabs some eggs from the carton guarded by the two betas sitting at the counter when she sees him. The egg slips from her slack grasp as she lets out a startled gasp, “Stiles.”

All eyes turn to him as he walks down the last few steps. He brings a hand up and gives a small wave and a nervous smile, “Hi.”

Liam gives him a tired but encouraging smile as he gets up and comes around the counter to clean the egg up while Allison gives Stiles a bear hug. Isaac wraps an arm around his shoulder for a second and wonders back to his seat. Theo gives him a hug, he pulls back and says “Sorry we rushed off without saying goodbye. It’s just Scott was...and...did you know…?” He was right, he notes, they did leave.

Stiles shakes his head because he didn’t. He had no clue. He answers, “I had no clue. I...I should’ve known. Right?”

Before Theo can think of a reply, Liam comes up and places a firm hand on Stiles’ shoulder “We couldn’t have known. Scott...he wasn’t the brightest, he wouldn’t have figured it out. Either way, it would’ve happened like this.”

“Yeah…” Stiles sighs and lowers his eyes. They light up as he catches Theo’s hand reaching toward Liam’s for comfort. His eyes shoot up “But you guys!” he bursts “You’re finally out, I’m so happy.”

“Well, it was you and Derek who pushed us ove—”

“You.” Theo interrupts with a tense expression.

Liam’s eyes fall in shame, “I...wasn’t really thinking. I just couldn’t not tell everyone how much I love him and...yeah.” that pulls a small smile from Theo.

“Yeah...I get it.” his eyes catch a glimpse of something green and blue behind Theo and Liam and something he hasn’t felt in months sparks in remembrance. He brings his hands together in a silent clap and says “So, what are you guys making?”

Both boys turn and walk Stiles and themselves, further, toward the kitchen “When we got here, Allison, Lydia, and Isaac were out here making macaroons. Then Lydia went back to bed and me and Theo helped Allison make a chocolate cake with the chocolate cream stuff.”

Theo and Allison say “Ganache.” at the same time. Liam rolls his eyes.

Stiles muffles a laugh but gets an apron to the face in retaliation “Hey!”

Allison rolls her eyes and tugs him further into the kitchen, she lets him go and says “Then we made snickerdoodles. The last batch is in the oven. Now—”

Liam interrupts her, “We made bread, too. And muffins.” 

Allison nods and continues, “We did. Now—Stiles—go find some more chocolate chips, Theo used the rest of the big bag, but we bought three last time so I’m fairly sure there’s at least one more. Somewhere. Then I wanna make those oatmeal cookie sandwiches you’d make with the cream cheese frosting—ooh and carrot cake.”

Stiles smiles wide and says “Until we fall asleep at the mixer.” because it happens. That’s usually when _everyone_ calls it a night. He nudges Theo and lets him tie the apron in the back because Stiles is fairly sure if he tried he would open his cuts and all of the werewolves would know and that would be _embarrassing_. So he makes Theo help him out. No one says anything. He mutters a small thanks of gratitude and sets out in search of a giant bag of chocolate chips. He assumes they’re making chocolate chip cookies, but who knows. He’s down for whatever. He’s just happy to finally be doing this again. It’s been so long. He knows it’s nothing really, but it means something to him.

~

Derek wakes up to an empty bed. A pit forms in his stomach, but is quickly whisked away by the smell of freshly baked goods. He thinks he can smell freshly shredded carrots. With Stiles out there that could be anything, he would put carrots into any baked good. No, literally, anything. He hears a crunch and knows Stiles is eating a carrot. Knows it like he knows the sky is blue.

He walks down the spiral staircase to a picture he hasn’t seen in far too long. Two of them are fast asleep at the counter. Liam is slumped over, using his jacket as a pillow, while Isaac is using Liam’s arm as a pillow for himself. There are plates full of cookies, cakes, bread, and muffins all over the big island counter. Brett and Kira are sleepily watching the others work and skirt around each other in the kitchen, while they share a piece of cake and the occasional macaroon—Brett scrapes off the creme with one and gives that one to Kira, he eats the plain one. Allison is still there, Liam and Theo must’ve come back, sometime last night. Stiles is munching on a carrot as he pulls out a batch of cookies. Nolan is helping Theo bring together all the dry ingredients for their next project. Then there’s Malia. It's not going well, Derek can smell the blood from the bottom of the stairs. Malia shouldn’t be shredding carrots.

As he comes closer, everyone sends sleepy smiles and half-hearted waves toward him in acknowledgment. He goes to Stiles first and wraps his arms around Stiles and says “Why is Malia shredding carrots? She does this every time.”

“Well, I don’t wanna cut _myself_ and Malia doesn’t even bat an eye when the little monsters stab her and she wanted to help. So, it’s fine. I’m over here eating carrots and _not_ getting my fingers shredded.”

“She always gets blood on them.”

“And then, she always washes them.”

Derek sighs and releases him with a small kiss to the jaw. He walks over to Malia and puts a hand on hers, he says “Go wash your hands and eat something.”

Malia growls and says “I’m helping.” His inner Alpha wants to growl back, but he holds that in, he sighs in defeat, knowing he won’t get anywhere with this and says sternly “Make sure you wash them after.”

Malia rolls her eyes and says “Sure thing, _Boss_.”

Derek walks back around the island and settles in next to Kira, he starts in on a plate of—what he assumes is—banana bread, then moves to some chocolate chip cookies, some chocolate cake, the little sandwich cookies Stiles would make. By the time Derek is—borderline—in food coma territory, the rest of them are cleaning up the kitchen—because _someone_ —Nolan—almost missed the sink—and putting away what’s left of the ingredients. He absentmindedly notes that he’ll probably need to go shopping soon. And wash the dishes. He’s _really_ not looking forward to that.

Theo wakes Liam up, which startles Isaac awake when his, impromptu, pillow disappears. Allison takes a few plates, with a medley of desserts on them, to their apartment a few floors down. Kira and Malia take chocolate chip cookies, some of the banana bread, and some of the oatmeal sandwich cookies to their apartment one floor down. Brett drags Nolan down to their apartment, eight floors down, with mostly cookies and cake. 

Stiles puts away the carrots, sits down next to Derek, and starts eating an oatmeal cookie. He says, “Thanks.”

“For what?” Derek mumbles sleepily.

“For wanting to tell them. None of this would've happened. I—just...thanks.”

“If I say ‘your welcome’ can we go back to sleep?”

Stiles laughs and says “Sure thing, Sourwolf.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well...how was it? You can't expect me to judge my own work.


	10. Chapter Ten

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing very eventful. A little confrontation. Mostly how the pack is feeling about Stiles.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next one will have a lil' somethin' somethin'.

Derek wakes up before Stiles this time. It’s four in the afternoon and something's cooking. As he gets up he watches Stiles roll into the middle of the bed and curl into the blanket. Derek thinks he’s adorable.

Derek leaves the room quietly, not wanting to wake Stiles up. He walks down the stairs and finds Liam and Theo in the kitchen. He settles into a chair at the counter, “What’re you making?”

”Steak and shrimp. And other things.” Theo replies.

”Smells great.”

After a few minutes, Liam comes to the counter and hesitantly asks, “Derek...what...happened?” Because he and Theo both don’t get it. Stiles is distant and comes back somewhat sheltered or _shielded_ by Derek, who’s been absent for a few days. Then Scott got… It’s been strange.

Derek doesn’t say anything for a few moments. He sighs and says, “You guys have to ask him, and even then, he might not want to tell you. Not yet.”

Liam’s brows scrunch in confusion and Theo comes in next to him with a question, “What does that mean?”

Derek really doesn’t think he should be saying anything. It’s personal and Stiles should be telling them and Derek doesn’t want Stiles to get mad or anything. He wants Stiles to tell everyone in his own time and he wants the pack to accept that, to stop prodding. He puts his head in his hands, drags them through his hair, and looks up. He says, “You guys, I really shouldn’t say anything. I don’t want to say anything. Just be patient and don’t push. Please.”

And that’s that. Theo slinks off to start on the potatoes and, with a disappointed shake of his head, Liam turns around to keep an eye on the shrimp. Derek lets his head drop, sighing in defeat. He doesn’t know how to do this. He doesn’t want to keep things from the pack, but he definitely doesn’t want to tell them this. Stiles needs to. And in his own time. No one is going to pressure him.

~

When dinner—more like breakfast—is finished, Derek climbs the stairs and goes to wake Stiles.

He’s already awake; sitting with his legs over the side, his back is toward the door, and his sleeves are rolled up, wrists out of sight. Derek cautiously walks toward Stiles, with a careful, “Stiles?”

Derek is startled by the laugh Stiles lets out. Stiles waves his arms above his head and says, “I’m not _hurting_ myself, Derek.” He gets up and goes to Derek, with a smile he adds, “That’d just be bad manners.”

Derek’s brows come together in a mix of anger and annoyance, “Don’t joke, it isn’t funny.”

Stiles wraps his arms around Derek and says, with emotion “I know.” Because he does. But that’s how he deals with everything. Morose jokes are his specialty. Stiles pulls back and says seriously, “No but really, you need to get rid of all your razors. Or things that I could easily break and use. And I don’t mean _hide_ , I mean _get rid of it_. Throw it away. Because, I assure you, I will find it.”

The only question Derek has is, “Knives?”

Stiles makes a face, “No.” Then adds a moment later, “Wait, do you have a knife sharpener?”

Derek’s eyebrows come together in confusion as he nods, “Yeah.”

Stiles clicks his tongue and says, “Lucky I didn’t know that last night, or this mor—”

”Stiles.” It may come out as a growl. Stiles deflates. “I don’t like the thought of you hurting yourself. Nor do I appreciate all the jokes.”

Stiles’ carefree smile starts to turn down in a frown, “Derek, I can’t—”

Derek grabs him and pulls him closer, “No, of course not. I know, I know, I didn’t mean—I’m sorry.” He pulls back and says, “They’ve been asking about you all evening. They know something’s up. I didn’t know what you wanted me to tell them so I just kept telling them to be patient and that you’d tell them in your own time.”

Stiles nods, “Yeah, thanks, I appreciate that.”

Stiles goes to the dresser in search of socks. What? His feet are cold. He asks, “So where is everybody?”

”That’s why I came to get you: dinner’s done.”

”Psht. More like breakfast.” Before Derek can say anything, Stiles adds, “Do you have any longer socks—” Stiles continues in a scandalized voice, “Do you have _fluffy_ socks?”

”Next drawer over.”

Derek settles himself at the end of the bed in wait.

Stiles comes back with a pair of fluffy, purple socks and sits next to Derek so he can put them on. He takes one sock out of itself and hands the other to Derek with a quick, “Hold this.”

Derek asks, “Why the socks?”

Stiles takes the other sock from Derek and says, “ _I’m_ cold, but the real question is why do you have these?” he wiggles his feet for emphasis.

Derek sighs, “Erica.”

”Of course Erica.” He laughs and says, “What’d she say, it brings out the green in your eyes?”

Derek’s brows raise in shock, “Exactly that.”

”She’s the best. Unless she gets Alpha-starved.”

Derek sighs for a whole other reason, “I’m sorry you—”

”No.” Stiles holds a hand up, “It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t her fault. She was just confused and angry. That’s never a good combination. In my experience”

Derek just sighs and doesn’t respond. Instead, he asks, “You ready?”

Stiles stands and smiles, extending a hand to Derek, “Yeah, lets go.”

~

Theo, Kira, and Brett are downstairs playing GTA. They’re killing people because that’s the only fun thing about GTA. Theo’s running people over with his ferrari, while Kira and Brett are sniping people from opposite buildings. Theo drives by as Kira gets a headshot and realizes that at least a few are going to have money, so he outruns the cops and heads back to collect the money. It’s as he’s collecting cash from a fourth person when he asks, “So...Stiles?”

Brett speaks first, ”Yeah, somethin’ is definitely different. He’s...I don’t know.”

Kira says, “Yeah, at the pack meeting, he was...it looked like Derek was…”

”Shielding him, right?”

Brett says, “Yeah and after Derek...you know...he was like...I don’t know, but Derek told ‘em to take him away. And Stiles he just…”

Kira picks up from there, “He seemed super vulnerable. He wasn’t...himself. I mean, I know lately he hasn’t but…”

Brett says, “Yeah, it’s like...all those other times...he was still, but…”

Theo hits Brett on the shoulder and says, “You guys, what if Derek bit Stiles.” At the disbelieving nods he pauses the game and holds up his hands, “Hold up, listen. Derek is at Stiles’ place for a few days. And Stiles has been acting weird lately. Maybe he’s been wanting to ask for it and finally did.”

Lydia drops down next to Kira and says, “He has a bandage on his wrist. After Derek started in on Scott, he freaked out and he…” Lydia’s gonna stop talking right now because she thinks she knows what the bandage is covering and she just really wants to hug Stiles. She thought Stiles was flipping out about Scott, but now...she doesn’t know. She’s going to buy so much more stuff for Stiles.

”He what?” Theo asks.

”He was just...really upset. I came down to tell you guys dinner is done, so come on, lets go.”

Brett and Kira are gone and fighting each other up the stairs to be the first at the table. Theo laughs at their antics and gets up to head up himself. Lydia sighs and gets up. She won’t pry, but she won’t stand for him lying. She just...her gut feelings are usually true. There’s a pit in her stomach and she hopes she’s wrong. Theo calls from the top of the stairs, “You comin’ Red?”

Lydia laughs. Of course she’s wrong. She has to be. She says, “Coming!” and heads up stairs.

~

Nolan, Mason, and Corey are already at the table, along with Malia. So Brett and Kira aren’t _that_ disappointed.

The dinner goes fine until Malia asks, “What’s wrong with you?”

Everyone knows who she’s talking to, she has no filter. Kira puts a hand on her leg and scolds, “Malia.”

”No. Everyone knows he’s been avoiding us these past couple of months. “ No one disagrees, so she continues, “Then Derek disappears for a few days, come to find out, he’s with you because he completely forgot his Alpha duties. And you’re not a wolf. I’d smell it. So. What is it?” He knows she’s not trying to be rude, but she comes off like that, so Stiles doesn’t take it personally.

Nearly the whole table can hear as his heart starts beating faster until it’s doing overtime trying to keep up. Stiles doesn’t know what to do. He thinks he may have a panic attack in a few moments. Boy would that be embarrassing. He pulls Derek’s hand under the table and starts running his hand up and down his arm, trying to calm himself down before it gets out of control. He needs to say something, he can’t have Derek covering for him constantly. This isn’t him, he shouldn’t _need_ so _much_. It’s pathetic. He’s pathetic. Derek’s voice brings him back from the edge, “Stiles.”

Stiles glances at everyone and says, “There is nothing wrong with me. I’m just a little unwell.”

Lydia asks, because she knows he’s not sick or under the weather, “When will you be okay.”

Stiles laughs under his breath and nearly says you tell me, but, instead, chooses a more serious option, “I’m not sure.” Because he isn’t. He doesn’t know if he’ll ever be okay again. He doesn’t think he can get better. He wants to, but he just can’t see that happening. Maybe he’ll always cling to Derek for life support and kill himself if Derek ever dies.

”Stiles. We all love you. And we’ll continue to love you no matter what you do or how you behave. We just want you to be happy, however you get there. We will be there for you because we are a family.”She nods, to her left, at Peter and with a smirk adds, “Even that guy.” 

Maybe he wouldn’t throw himself off a building or slit his wrists. Maybe he and Derek’s kids would comfort him, along with the pack. Maybe they’d find a way to have a kid—kids—that’s half him and half Derek. What if Derek can get pregnant? Holy shit. Stiles really needs to write this down so he doesn’t forget to ask. Stiles looks out into all the eyes, on him, and brings his hands together in a soundless clap. He says, “Okay! Thanks for the...pep talk?” after a nod from Lydia, he continues, “Now lets eat and not talk about this anymore. Okay? Okay.” Then he shoves a giant spoonful of mashed potatoes into his mouth.

Everyone goes back to their food, every now and then turning from their conversations to glance his way. Trying to figure out what had just transpired. They never can so they reluctantly return to their somewhat stilted conversations. Although, Lydia, she makes a decision. She’s going to ask Derek because if she went to Stiles, he’d probably have a panic attack. Derek’s the safer option. The safest.

When dinner and dessert are finished, Lydia volunteers to help Derek with dishes. Once everyone has left the dining room and kitchen area, she aks, “It’s his mind that’s unwell isn’t it? And what’s causing a bandage to cover his wrist.” It’s a question that she already knows the answer to.

The plate Derek had been washing sinks back down into the water and he sighs, “You saw.”

”I did.”

Derek turns to her and in a grave voice he says, “You can’t tell Stiles you know, he’ll—”

”I know. I know.” She returns to drying the dripping plate in her hands, “I just...I needed to ask. I didn’t want it to be true. It—”

”Breaks your heart.” Derek provides with a smile, “Mine too.”

Lydia’s heart hurts, “You found him like that. You caught him, didn’t you.” Because that’s the only way someone would have found out. That’s the only logical reason. It explains everything. Derek goes into Alpha mode because Stiles is his Mate and _hurting_. And can’t leave his side. She says, “I’m so sorry you had to _see_ that.” After a moment she asks, “Do you think he’s going to be okay?”

Derek picks the plate back up and washes the plate in thought, he answers, “I do. Not immediately, but with everyone’s help, I know he’ll get there.”

They finish the dishes and go their separate ways.

~

Derek curls around an already sleeping Stiles because he needs the physical attention. When Stiles wakes from the movement he mumbles, “Can you get pregnant?”

Derek’s eyes widen in shock. He says, “We can talk about this another time.”

”Okay, cuddle me.”

”I’m trying.”

~

Lydia wraps herself around Peter and says, “He’s been hurting himself. I saw a bandage on his wrist last night and Derek just confirmed it.” She can’t _not_ tell Peter.

”Are you gonna talk to him?”

”No, that’d just bring on a panic attack. He needs to tell us himself.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, you know I'm gonna make at least one of them pregnant. I can't not. So...that'll happen at some point in time.  
> Also, thanks for reading and whatnot.


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He decides it's time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's crying.

It’s twelve days later when he decides he needs to tell them. Or should tell them. Out of respect. Or something.

Stiles is lying in bed, snuggled up close to Derek. The windows open and they’re both in that haze of drifting consciousness as a cool, refreshing breeze drafts into the room. Stiles is dragging his hand up and down Derek’s chest, playing with his chest hair, when he says, “I think I need to tell them.”

Derek’s eyes stay closed as he asks, “Do you want to?”

“No, not really. But I think they need to know. And I kind of just want to get it over with. The looks. The shock.”

“You can do it when you’re ready.”

“I’ll do it at tonight's pack meeting. I’ll tell them.” He mutters softly, almost a whimper, “Derek, if I see pity or...something...I don’t know what I’ll do. How I’ll react.” He adds, “It’s gonna be so embarrassing, Derek.”

Derek pulls him closer to his side and says, “Don’t _ever_ get embarrassed. They’re pack. They won’t laugh. The only thought that will go through their minds is ‘why hadn’t I noticed’. And all they’ll want to do is help you. We’re…” Derek opens his eyes and looks down at Stiles, he continues emboldened, “...we’re a family, Stiles. And you’re the heart of it. You always have been. You keep us together. Strong.”

Stiles sighs and lets out a small, “Thank you.”

“I love you.”

Stiles closes his eyes and smiles, “I know.”

Derek rolls his eyes and kisses Stiles’ mussed hair.

~

Stiles is shaking with nerves; however, every time he looks at himself to see if he’s actually shaking, he isn’t. He can’t see anything moving involuntarily. But he feels it. The minute tremors racking his body. He’s rigid, but not.

Derek walks into the room, “Ready?”

Stiles stands. His back hurts. He looks at Derek, “Am I shaking?”

Derek gives him a once over and says, “Not visibly.”

Stiles pulls his hands together and walks toward Derek, he heads down the stairs, “I just...it feels like…”

“You're about to explode.” Derek helpfully supplies.

Stiles takes the last step and says, “Exactly! I feel like I’m—I’m vibrating.” As Derek comes down Stiles’ eyes narrow and he asks, “Are you sure I’m not shaking? At all?”

Derek shakes his head, he comes to a stop in front of Stiles and placates, “It’s barely noticeable.”

Stiles pushes at Derek and playfully shouts, “Asshole!” He doesn’t budge. Stiles glares and says, “I am _never_ having—” he whispers the next word as if it a scandal, “— _sex_ with you. _Ever_.” He punctuates it by turning around and walking out the door.

Derek...can’t. He just...he shakes the sinful thoughts out of his head and heads out the door, pretending like the thought of him and Stiles together doesn’t _do_ things to him. Because it does. He still remembers that embarrassing incident a few weeks ago; it had been amazing before the Sheriff walked in. He shivers at the thought.

Derek gets into the passenger seat because Stiles wanted to drive, he looks at Stiles who’s already looking at him with a mischievous glint in his eyes. Derek internally sighs, because Stiles is a fucking tease. He just...drives Derek insane a little. But Derek doesn’t say anything because he thinks it’s good for Stiles. To leave Derek throbbing and panting. It must boost his self esteem. At least a little. Maybe. Derek just hopes Stiles will be able to love his body the way Derek loves it. Derek would worship him.

*lightbulb clicks on*

Oh. Derek has an idea. Derek definitely has a fucking idea. An incredible idea.

Stiles’ smirk slowly melts into a confused frown as Derek’s smile grows into a feral one of glee. Stiles doesn’t know how the tables turned so quickly. This is...strange. He turns the ignition and shakes the confusion from his head, pulling out of the driveway.

~

Derek sighs. He rolls his eyes. He looks at Stiles, “It’s been seven minutes and Brett, Kira, Nolan, and Malia walked by us already. What are you waiting for?”

Stiles eyes are wide, knuckles white on the steering wheel. He mutters, “Me to change my goddamn mind.” not even a second later he growls, “Fuck. Let’s go.”

Most of the pack is in the living room, the others are at the counter snacking on whatever they can find. Jackson bites off a piece of beef jerky and growls halfheartedly, “Finally.”

As soon as the door slides open, Derek’s glaring at Jackson. Jackson rolls his eyes and turns back around, saying, “Relax, it was a joke. You guys were out there for twenty minutes. And this shit,” he glares at the meat stick in his hand, “is _not_ in my diet.” He glares down at his hands and shrugs helplessly, “I’m a stress eater.”

“Aw! He cares!” Stiles puts a hand to his heart. Because he doesn’t know what else to do. Everyone knows that something is up. It’s obvious.

Jackson throws the meat on the counter and turns back around, “Yeah, he does. Why are you guys acting all shady.” he reconsiders, “More than usual.”

Stiles’ eyes dart to the floor as he gulps. His hands are white, wrapped around Derek’s wrist. He can’t do it. He can’t even look anyone in the eye. How did he think he was gonna do this? He can’t. He turns into Derek’s side, holding his arm hostage between them, and presses his temple to Derek’s shoulder, saying, “I can’t. Derek, I can’t.”

Derek can smell the beginnings of embarrassment. He shuts that shit down, real quick, “Don’t Stiles. You have nothing to be embarrassed about.” Meanwhile, the pack is watching. It’s like a pathetic soap opera that lasted six episodes. Erica barks out with a laugh, “What? Is Stiles a _little_?” Erica starts cackling, other members’ lips twitch or they crack a smile. But Derek roars. Derek fucking _roars_.

Silence.

Derek doesn’t say anything. He directs Stiles to his bedroom and shuts the door. Stiles’ eyes are watery as he kicks off his shoes and curls up in the middle of the bed, completely hidden under the covers. He says quietly, “I don’t like loud noises.”

Derek sits on the edge of the bed and says, “I’m sorry.”

Stiles pulls the blanket off from his face and says, “No. I’m sorry I thought I could do that.” He looks of to the side, “Do they even have to know? What’s the point?”

Derek growls, voice rising with every word, “The point would be you not slitting your wrists when I’m not there!” Stiles recoils. Derek sets on the edge of the bed and growls, “Fuck!” His voice lowers, “ I’m sorry Stiles, I just...Fuck.” He drags his hands down his face, “Stiles...I can’t lose you too.”

Stiles doesn’t say anything at first. Then there’s shifting sheets and long arms are wrapping themselves around Derek. Stiles lays his head on Derek’s shoulder and whispers, almost inaudibly, “You won’t.”

Derek closes his eyes and lets a tear fall, shaking his head, “Stiles…” He coughs out a sob. Stiles lifts the covers, settles against the headboard and herds Derek under the blanket, shushing him and pulling him into his side. He lets his head fall back against the bed and he closes his eyes. Because he can’t. He’s realizing that he’d live for Derek. He could never hurt him like that, he can’t. He’s going to live for Derek. For now and hopefully, one day, for himself. He’d do everything to make Derek smile. He has to get better. If not for himself, for Derek. He just...he couldn’t leave him. Derek has lost too many people. Stiles swears to himself, as he’s cradling the most precious thing in the world to him, that he will get better. In that small moment, he doesn’t understand why he’s so sad or why he was cutting himself or why he was getting embarrassed. He’s going to tell the pack. Today.

~

It’s probably been thirty, maybe forty minutes since they’d hidden away in Derek’s room. There’s a light knock on the door. Stiles looks down to Derek snuggled into his side, sound asleep. He kisses the top of his head and says, “I’m gonna tell them.” He carefully untangles himself from Derek and gets out of bed silently. He opens the door and it’s Lydia.

He inches out of the door and shuts it quietly, he asks hoarsely, “Hey Lydia, what’s up?”

Her eyes are intense as she says, “I know.” She punctuates it with a look at his wrist.

His stomach drops. He backs himself against the door, “How…?”

Lydia starts to reach out but pulls back, “Please don’t flip out. I saw the bandage on your wrist when Derek...after Derek...when Isaac and I carted you off. I asked Derek and...I told him I wouldn’t say anything.” She adds, “But you were going to. Down there. Weren’t you.”

No question. He can’t stand these people. He stands a little taller, nevertheless, and says, “I am going to.” He nods, “Right now.” He pushes past Lydia in determination, heading to the living room.

No one’s there. Except Peter. Stiles’ eyes shoot wide at the self-satisfied smirk on Peter’s face. “Oh my god, why? What the fuck, Lydia? Seriously?” He slumps into a chair. Rethinking the entire situation.

“I didn’t bring it up to _you_.” She pats his arm, a heavy emphasis on ‘you’, and says, “I’ll go get everyone.”

Stiles shakes his head and puts his head in his hands, muttering, “This is gonna be so embarrassing.”

Peter laughs, “Hasn’t your Alpha already assured you we won’t laugh. We’re pack Stiles.”

Stiles groans and sits up straighter, “I know, I know. I just..I can’t help it.”

Peter sighs, he says, almost wistfully “We have some work to do.”

Stiles doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t know how to even begin a response to that. He just sits there in wait of his excruciating inevitability.

Theo, Kira and Brett show up first, then Jackson, and soon the whole place is full. Lydia asks, “Derek?”

Stiles shakes his head, “I need to do this on my own.” Stiles claps his hands together and says, “Okay, puppies.” He just says it, “I’m mentally unhealthy and cut myself sometimes. Okay bye.” He hopes nobody says anything about the scars.

He starts pushing himself up from the chair. “Nope.” Peter pushes him back down. “Stop feeling embarrassed.”

Stiles wiggles out of Peters hold and slumps down, he groans, “It’s not even a big deal.”

“Yes it is.” half the pack nearly growl.

Stiles sits up straighter and says, “Okay, some feel more strongly than others.” He keeps his eyes to the floor.

It’s Theo, “Why didn’t you tell us? We...we would have helped, it...you stopped coming.” He looks so lost.

Stiles looks up at the broken voice and lost expression, “I...I...I thought...After everything...I just didn’t know what was right. I didn’t feel like I belonged. I saw you guys at pack meetings and I...I felt like I was...intruding. You guys were finally all happy.”

Malia stands up and nearly roars, “Because we thought you and Derek were finally gonna get together!” She storms off.

“Well that was aggressive.”

Kira says, “She’s right.” and goes after Malia. The only thing the rest of them offer are nods in affirmation.

Stiles stares at them all in disbelief. He exhales, “What? Why didn’t I know?” Well this probably wouldn’t have happened if somebody had said something. Maybe...who knows? Actually, what would’ve happened is Stiles would have thought everyone was making fun of him and might be dead by now...who knows.

Before Stiles knows what’s happening, there’s an adorable, black, fluffy wolf in his lap, curling into him. Stiles doesn’t know what to say. Derek never really full shifts, not since...the incident—mostly Stiles’ fault, but shit happens—it wasn’t even Stiles’ fault that it was Stiles’ fault. It’s a nice change though. And wolf-Derek is adorable. Stiles puts his hands in the thick fur coat and says, “I did it.” Derek rumbles in pride and approval. He knew his little witch could do it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's _The Incident_?


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The incident.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...it's been a while. Sorry 'bout that. I'm stressed and overwhelmed. So it's been fun. I'm terribly sorry this took so long, but enjoy. I guess.  
> Edit: 5/28/2019  
>  —I was looking through my AP Gov notebook and found what I was writing for this chapter so I changed it. It's mostly just Stiles and Derek's interaction.

A year or so ago. 

The Incident. 

Stiles had just discovered his magical abilities a few months prior. Finally, something overshadowing Scott’s True Alpha status. First, it’d been gnomes in the preserve, then a pack of were-jaguars, then witches, trolls, and a were-lion—who was a _teacher_. Now, there are all kinds of supernaturals banginging at the door, trying to kill the entire Hale pack. No, literally. They were banging at the door to the building. Stiles didn’t know as much as he probably should have, Deaton kept telling him to have patience and how he doesn’t need offensive magic, and now look where they are. In deep shit. And where’s Deaton? In Japan. And is Stiles capable of offensive magic? Yes. Does he know any offensive magic? Nope. 

They’re not at the door of the building, no, they’re at the door to the loft and hovering or hanging outside the large windows looking into Derek’s fucking loft. They’ve been held up there for thirty-seven hours, the only thing keeping the monsters at bay is Stiles’ wards. He hasn’t slept in awhile. Not much of the pack either, most of them trying to keep Stiles up and alert. 

Stiles is slumped against the wall, under the window, where a winged creature is pounding at the glass. Stiles’ eyes are slipping closed. One second there’s nothing in front of him and then he opens his eyes to Derek’s concerned and tired face, when did he get there? Derek’s hands are on his face, “Come on Stiles, I know it’s hard but you gotta stay awa—” 

Stiles shoots up in a flash, tiredness long-forgotten, “It’s Scott!” 

Derek’s brows come together, “What do you mean, it’s Scott?” 

Stiles stumbles to his feet, gripping Derek’s wrists, letting him guide his wobbly legs to a chair. He sits down, “I mean the reason,” he waves his hands around for emphasis, “this shit is happening, is because of Scott. Deaton said a True Alpha spark is a beacon. That it draws the supernatural.” Every thud on the glass and door makes Stiles’ head pound, every hit is a pound in his head. If he were to lose focus...he can’t think of what ifs right now. He needs to think of the pack. The safety of the pack is all that matters—and Derek. But no one has to know that. 

Derek asks, “But why so many?” Stiles just shrugs. Derek asks hopelessly, “Stiles...what do we do?” There’s fear and panic and it _scares_ stiles because Derek doesn’t let that shit show, ever. But now he is. 

Stiles surveys the room, the people pacing and the others laying down, just staring at the ceiling. He comes back to Derek’s worried face, he gives a reassuring smile, “Don’t worry, sourwolf. Everything will be okay. I promise.” Because it can’t not be. He couldn’t take it. Stiles had taken a book from Deaton, which he’s sure Deaton had seen him take, so the there’s-not-much-offensive-magic bull shit was Deaton being cryptic as fuck, per usual. He asks, “Can you go get my bag, the book’s in it.” Derek doesn’t ask about the book or why he needs it because he knows Stiles can do this. He has to. He has to end this, no matter what it takes. 

Derek finds Stiles slumped over the table, a book and papers scattered all around him, and a pen hanging out of his mouth, the cap next to the tome. The image warms his heart, before he realizes why Stiles is slumped over the table. He’s sleeping. He’s _sleeping_. Derek’s heart drops and there’s a pit in his stomach. 

There’s a crash from the window. A greyish creature rises from the ground and Derek shifts in seconds, eyes shining a deep red. Roaring, he runs at the creature, slitting its throat as he passes by. He kicks it towards the wall. More are coming in. He hears the door slide open and fear chokes him, he rushes to Stiles’ side, shaking him, “Stiles! Stiles! Wake up!” Nothing works. He looks around at all the creatures pouring in and all the pack members each fighting at least a few of the creatures each. They’re going to die. But he’ll die fighting. He fucking hates Scott. He tries to wake Stiles up, once more, as more climb in. He grabs Stiles’ face with both hands, “Stiles, please wake up. If you’re trying to be dramatic—” Stiles straightens in his hold and his eyes open, shining a flaming red. Stiles’ hands latch onto Derek’s wrists, almost mirroring their earlier positions. It’s like fire in his veins. It feels like his blood is being curdled and his bones are breaking. He feels like he’s shifted into his wolf against his will, like his body’s been skinned, but just as soon as it came, it’s gone. And so is the noise. He opens his eyes, only to see Stiles fall limp in his hold once again. _No_. “Stiles? Stiles!” He lifts him up and carries him up to his room, barely noticing anything besides Stiles’ sluggish heartbeat. He barely registers the splatters of bodily fluid all over his loft. He doesn’t care. He just needs Stiles to be okay. He needs him to live. 

~

Once Stiles is safe in Derek’s room, he goes to check on the rest of them. The entire pack has gashes and cuts, a few were even poisoned, though nothing a little herb couldn’t fix. Stiles was extremely prepared. Derek dusts off some glitter from Boyd’s shoulder. He asks “What happened?” 

Isaac starts from across the room, at the table, gathering up Stiles’ papers and book. “Scott started whining and then fell to the ground. He stormed off a while ago. His eyes were gold.” Erica continues as she swipes a towel at the wall near the stairs, “After he fell down, the things just...poof. Stiles…” she shakes her head, “he’s fucking incredible.” 

Derek’s quiet for a moment. He asks, “He did that.” It’s not a question, just a statement. An awed statement. 

Erica nods excitedly, with a happy smile, “Yeah! I was in shock at first, but then I was like...that was so cool. They just went _poof_.” she makes an explosion with her hand. She turns back to the wall once she’s sure she’s made her point. 

Derek surveys the pack once more. He asks “Where’s Peter?” 

Lydia comes down the stairs, wearing Peter’s clothes, with a towel on her head. She says, “After Scott ran off like a little bitch, Peter thought it better if he kept an eye on him.” When she takes the last step to the floor, she says “You know we all heard what Stiles said, right?” 

Derek wants to ask _how_ for all of a second, before he realizes that, yeah, they probably did. Stiles is loud on any other day and the pack were on high-alert. Of course, they heard. It’s not that Derek didn’t want anyone to know that Scott was, most definitely, the reason for this entire situation. He just...Stiles was so vulnerable. He didn’t want anyone to see Stiles so vulnerable. If he’d lost Stiles...he doesn’t know what he’d do. Actually, he has a pretty clear picture: Crazy Peter. 

Derek’s turns his head as he picks up on Theo’s voice, “Just do it. This was his fault anyways.” 

Before Derek can see what that’s about, Liam’s in front of him. Liam asks, “Can I talk to you about something?” Derek nods and leads Liam upstairs and into the guest bedroom. Liam closes the door and turns around, Derek stays quiet. After a long, few, moments, Liam starts. “Me and Theo...I….I want to join your pack.” the last part is rushed out on a breath. 

Derek’s eyebrows come down in a frown, along with his mouth as he asks, “What do you mean? You’re already pack.” Derek is thoroughly confused. 

Liam’s cheeks flush, “I _mean_ , I want to officially be in _your_ pack. Scott hasn’t been my Alpha for awhile now. He bit me and there’s always been a connection, but he hasn’t been Alpha-y. You have. You’re my Alpha.” Derek’s eyes flash at the admission. Liam whines, “Are you gonna scent me? Like get all over me the way Scott did?” his voice lowers, “Do I have to bare my _throat_ to you?” Liam shudders at the memory of Scott on him, nearly biting him. Theo had nearly killed him that day. 

Derek huffs in amusement. He shakes his head, “No, just saying I’m your Alpha is good enough for me. We already have pack bonds. No need for...extremes.” Derek recalls holding Theo back from tearing into Scott. 

Liam shudders and mutters, “Thank god.” Liam looks at Derek, “Can I go tell Theo, now?” 

Derek shakes his head in exasperation, he nods at the door. “Go, Liam.” 

Derek smiles as he hears Liam’s excited voice tell all of the pack that he’s officially Derek’s beta. He feels their bond shift, centering him somewhat more so than usual, he’s sure the rest of the pack does as well. He needs to talk to Scott—No, he needs to talk to Stiles about what happened. 

Derek walks down the hall to check on Stiles. He’s awake and staring at the ceiling blankly. Derek comes closer and settles next to Stiles on the edge of the bed. He asks “Stiles?” More urgency and a shake of the shoulder “Stiles!” 

Stiles’ features completely change. His eyes shine a deep, crimson, red, then quickly fade away to a whiskey-brown. Color bleeds into his face and the dark and heavy bags under his eyes disappear. Stiles blinks up at Derek blearily. He asks “What happened?” Not a second after the question leaves his mouth, his eyes shoot wide-open. “Oh my, God.” He sits up, against the headboard. “Is Scott OK?” Of course he’s more concerned about Scott than himself. 

Derek puts a hand on his shoulder. “Scott is fine. You passed out. I thought...I thought—” 

Stiles grabs Derek’s hand. “Don’t. I’m alright, Sourwolf.” 

Derek says “Your eyes were red. And—what did you do to me?” 

Stiles shrinks back at that and his eyes fall to the loose string of the blanket he’s been fiddling with. “I’m sorry. I just...it was too much...power. I needed you. I’m sorry.” He sits up straighter. “I found something in the book so i said and did a few things. Then I passed out, but I wasn’t really sleeping. I don’t know how to explain it. There was this red shit around Scott’s...stuff. I ripped it away from him and it just...I absorbed it. It was cool. Until it wasn’t and I honestly thought I was going to explode. So I reached out and some of the red ran into the blue and it was so painful, I’m sorry I did that to you.” He looks away. “My body, my mind...it wasn’t intentional, not really. It was excruciating and then your stuff was there and the power lessened and everything was okay.” After a long moment, Stiles looks up. “Please, Derek, say something. Anything. Scream at me, yell at me, kick me out of the pack! Do something!” 

Derek sees how, utterly, wrecked Stiles is and grabs him, pulling him into his chest. He says “Stiles, no. You didn’t do anything wrong.” 

Stiles tries to resist at first, Derek only holds on tighter until he stops fighting. Stiles whispers into Derek’s shoulder, miserably. “I Alpha-ed you without consent. I—” 

Derek shushes him with a sharp “Stop.” He continues “Stiles. You’re incredible. The entire pack thinks so. I mean,” he shakes his head in disbelief, “You just took an Alpha spark from a True Alpha and eviscerated all of those creatures. And now? You’re in here, hating yourself for something you had no control over. You are incredible.” He enunciates every word in the last sentence for emphasis. 

They come apart and Stiles stares at Derek as if he’d hung the moon and suddenly asks “What do you mean eviscerated? You guys didn’t…?” Derek makes an explosive hand gesture. Stiles throws himself back against the pillows in outrage. “Oh my god! I blew them up?! Deaton is _never_ going to hear the end of this. _Ever_. As soon as he gets back…” When Deaton returns, Stiles is gonna give the vet a piece of his mind. After a moment in his head, he sees Derek’s ensure expression, he asks “What is it, Sourwolf?” Derek shakes his head dismissively with a wave of his hand. Stiles shakes his own head and clicks his tongue. “Not so easy, Sourwolf. Tell me.” 

Derek placates him. “It’s really nothing. Just that...well...you didn’t really explode anything. They kind of just...it was like a spray…? They’re all over the walls and the pack. Everyone’s down stairs cleaning it up.

Stiles asks “Scott?” 

“He ran off after everything.” He adds “His eyes were golden.” 

Stiles nods. “That’s good.” He gives Derek a considering look. “You know, I never really understood why Scott became a True Alpha. He’s moral to a detrimental point—the whole no-killing thing would have never ended well. He’s so morally good and righteous all of the time. Sometimes...sometimes you need a little moral ambiguity. And what would he have done with a grey area, he sees in black white. The whole ‘True Alpha’ thing went straight to his head...I just never understood why him.” 

“Really? But Scott is your best friend, weren’t you happy for him? Excited?” 

Stiles looks down. “I was, at first. But I quickly realized that Scott could never do what needed to be done when and if it ever came up. I know you could. Alpha.” 

Derek doesn’t feel the same way he felt with Liam. He mutters “You’ve always been mine.” 

Stiles nods. “Yepe. He adds “I like my Alpha broody, emotionally stunted, tall, and willing to do anything for his pack. 

~ 

“No! This was reckless endangerment. We could have died.” Stiles realizes, “We almost did die. _I_ could have died from that spell! It was fifty-fifty. At most! Not cool, Doc, not cool at all. And I especially love how you pretend that there is little to no offensive magic, that’s the best part.” After some of the anger dissipates, he says, “Okay, I’m done.” 

“I let you take that book.” 

Okay. He isn’t going to say anything. He isn’t going to say anything. He isn’t. “Are you kidding me!” Stiles bursts. “You did not tell me it was offensive magic and it was three days before the fucking attack! How is that helpful?” 

Deaton just stares at him blankly. After a moment, he asks “Now would you like to continue our lesson?” 

Stiles glares at the man, “If you teach me offensive magic too. Or at least give me all the books on it.” 

Deaton nods. He walks over to the counter and pulls open a bottom cabinet. It’s filled to the brim with books. Tomes to be exact. This is going to be a light read. 

When Deaton closes the cabinet-door, Stiles leans back on his heels and says, “So...that fungi remedy for pickled appendages?” 

“Why are the affected appendages determined to be pickled?” This guy... 

~ 

“You need to talk to him. Tell him what happened.” 

“I’m sure he has a pretty good idea of what happened. He has golden-fucking-eyes, Derek! What else does he need to know?” 

“That his best friend didn’t mean to take away his Alpha status.” 

“He’s better off without it.” He looks at Derek. “If no one will state the obvious, I will.” 

There’s a click as Stiles’ bedroom door closes. “So that’s how it is then? You took my power because you wanted it for yourself.” Is he fucking kidding? Even Derek’s brows scrunch together in confusion. 

Stiles looks to Derek with a what-the-fuck look, then back to Scott. “I didn’t mean—” 

“Bullshit! You did this to me! You ruined my life, Stiles! But when I finally am happy, you wanna take that away from me? You’re not a good person, Stiles! All you’re good for is research. No one wants to be near you because all you fucking do is talk and _annoy_ them! You’re good for nothing. Worthless.” Stiles doesn’t know if he wants to cry or laugh. 

“Scott.” Derek growls warningly as his claws dig into his thigh. 

“No, Derek!” He snarls. “Ever since you got your _magic_ powers you’ve done nothing to help the pack.” Lie. 

Both Derek and Stiles speak up in defense, but their voices fall to deaf ears as Scott continues his belligerent conquest to completely obliterate his and Stiles’, already, strained friendship. 

Scott’s “You’re not even pac—” has Derek pushing him into the wall before he can finish his cruel sentence. Though the words still have their intended effect on Stiles. 

Derek wants so bad to rip Scott’s fucking throat out, but he needs to reassure Stiles as soon as possible. He growls lowly “Get. Out.” When it looks like Scott is going to argue, Derek presses his nails into both sides of his throat. Scott struggles out and leaves with a scowl. 

Derek had no idea what Scott’s show of douchebaggery would do to Stiles in the long run. He wishes he’s known in that moment, so he could have done more. He should’ve done more. He should’ve... 

~ 

“...done more. I should’ve done more…” 

Stiles drags the covers off from his body and sits up against the headboard, placing Derek’s head onto his lap. He smooths a hand down his face and rakes his fingers through Derek’s hair and to his nape. He lets his fingers brush over every feature of Derek’s face as he says “Baby, wake up.” 

Stiles feels Derek’s eye lashes flutter open and hears the small gasp as Derek wakes up in his hold. Derek curls into Stiles. He starts “I shou—”

Stiles tsks and shushes him. “Derek, you’ve done more than enough. You couldn’t have known. I...no one knew what would happen. It’s no one’s fault.” He tangles his fingers with Derek’s and lists off “Not mine, not yours, and not Scott’s.” 

“But—” 

“Scott didn’t know that he’d make me want to kill myself. Or, at least, he hadn’t thought I’d take it so hard. I’m stubborn and don’t listen to insults.” 

“Unless it comes from someone you’ve known your entire life.” 

Stiles whisper-shouts “Bingo! _Ding ding_. We have a winner.” Stiles plays with Derek’s hair as he asks, playfully “What’ll your prize be, today, Mr. Hale?” 

“Hold me?” 

Stiles shakes his head. He says “You don’t have to ask.” as he lowers himself into position. He adds “It’s give and take. Take anything you want, Derek. Whenever you want it.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm pretty sure I got less than 1200 on the SAT, but thanks for reading. Comment and like and whatever. Also, I read the first two books of AFTG and I honestly think I will die if I don't read the last one soon. And I read Check Please. So...yeah.


	13. Chapter Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I honestly don't fucking know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's _super_ short.

Derek comes back from shopping and as he’s putting things away, he hears whimpered sobs from upstairs. His breath stutters and the bag of apples falls from his hands. He races up the stairs to the bathroom to find it locked. He can’t smell the blood, no visceral taste of copper on his tongue. His eyes burn red, but he calms himself, he says, “Open the door, Stiles.” 

Nothing. 

He growls under his breath and says, “If you don’t open the door, I’ll break it down. You know I will.” 

There’s shuffling, a click, and then there’s Stiles. His eyes are red-rimmed and puffy, wet tracks down his cheeks, and scarred wrists. As Derek grabs his wrists gently, Stiles crumbles, he cries and cries, sobbing as Derek takes his weight and holds him. He doesn’t say anything and Derek doesn’t ask. He knows Stiles will tell him what happened in his own time. 

He does. 

“I was masterbating and after I looked in the mirror I—I just started crying. I wanted to—but I couldn’t. I couldn’t do that to you. And I couldn’t do it to myself because I like myself. I couldn’t hurt you like that. I just...you’re everything to me. You love me. Every single part of me, no matter how ugly.” 

Derek interjects “Not ugly.” 

Stiles shakes his head a smiles. “I know. I do. I just...you saved my life. And I love you for that. I love you for everything. Every little thing.” Stiles rolls his eyes at himself. “God, I feel like I’m getting ready to propose. I’m such a sap. You’re stuck with a sappy romantic, you know that?” 

Derek smiles, nodding. “I’m going to marry a sappy romantic.” 

Stiles huffs. “Better get on it, I’m in high demand.” 

“Gold or silver?” 

“Silver, what animal wears a gold wedding band, Derek?” 

“I’ll get on that.” He pulls Stiles toward the staircase. “Now come help me put the groceries away.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading and such.  
> Could you guys just tell me what you want because I'm down with making this the last chapter, if you want more tell me. This chapter was gonna be angsty, but I was like no, stop it, this needs to end, the first chapter should have been a one-shot, go home. So...if you want more, tell me, explicitly, what you want and I'll see what I can do. But like...this is the last chapter if not, so...yeah.  
> Thanks again.

**Author's Note:**

> Uhm...that happened.


End file.
